Lima Noir
by RugBern
Summary: Kurtofsky; Klaine; Sebastian; Sandy Ryerson. The true nature and events of Glee are revealed as Lima's attractive veneer is stripped away revealing darkness and depravity beneath. Warnings: references to attempted suicide, adult language, graphic sexual situations, abusive relationships, references to self-harm and mental illness, drug use, rape, gun violence, and character death.
1. Keeping the Klaine Love Real

**This chapter was originally a one-shot story; it has been collected with its sequel one-shots into this piece.**

**Warnings: references to attempted suicide, adult language, graphic descriptions of sexual encounters, depictions of abusive relationships.**

**I do not own any part of Glee nor the characters or references therein.**

**Approximate words this chapter: 2,300**

* * *

"You just got poked. Poked by the dagger."

Though the thrusting had stopped, Sandy Ryerson held his still rock-hard cock balls-deep in Blaine as they both slowly came down from the exhausting pounding Sandy had just administered to the young, eighteen-year-old glee-club soloist.

"I'm old enough to be your grandfather," Sandy sneered, sweaty as he lay exhausted, his weight supported by Blaine's back as Blaine, likewise exhausted, maintained the bent-over doggie-position, hands gripping the elaborate Victorian carvings on the headboard of Sandy's antique bed.

"This _does_ mean I'm getting every solo, right?" Blaine panted through exhausted breaths over his clammy, sweaty shoulder. "I mean, I've done everything you wanted me to do. I got Schuester fired and put in jail. I got you back as the Glee Club coach. My candy-ass is yours whenever you want it, and I'll take forty-minute drillings like the one you just gave me."

"Ha!" Sandy laughed loudly as he lifted his sweaty chest from Blaine's sweaty back; it made a slick peeling-sound as he did. "It won't be a candy-ass for much longer."

Sandy spoke the truth, and Blaine knew it. Sandy's cock was thicker than a can of Red Bull and slightly longer, bumpy and heavily veined with a slight downward curve and between seven and eight inches when hard. The older man had stamina and could literally maintain a firm erection for hours, capable of climaxing multiple times. If Blaine wanted those solos, which he did, he'd offer the use of his young ass to Sandy Ryerson at Sandy's whim. That is, until Sandy got bored with it or it began to feel worn-out. Hopefully, that wouldn't happen until the legend of Blaine Anderson, show-choir front-man extraordinaire, was sealed.

For the time-being, though, Sandy slid his horse-sized penis out of Blaine's well-used, well-stretched anus, and a trail of semen and mucus followed it out of the wet, gaping hole as he did. It felt to Blaine like his asshole had been permanently enlarged, like it might not tighten again. He was momentarily worried that there might be some truth to the hollow threat Sandy had just spoken, but his senses returned in time to call the older man on his bluff as both of them stood from the bed, joints slightly stiff and bow-legged. "You can't threaten me, Mr. Ryerson," Blaine confronted with a cocky attitude.

"That's _Daddy_ Ryerson to you," Sandy corrected. "Or Daddy _Sandy_, if you like," he added more accommodatingly.

"Okay, Daddy Ryerson," Blaine spoke sassily, "You're in no position to threaten me." Blaine slid his briefs on while keeping accusing eye-contact with Sandy. "All I have to do is spill about how you've been fucking me, and you will be in _deep shit_!"

"Oh, you _won't_ do _that_," Sandy dismissed, ever so effete, as he slid his boxer shorts over his shaven crotch, his baby-smooth scrotum and huge, now-flaccid dong flopping as he did. "You have just as much to lose with your well-cultivated matinee-idol image and spotless reputation, not to mention your precious boyfriend Kurt Hummel."

"Don't drag Kurt into this," Blaine raised his voice. "He and I are in love. I'd do anything to protect that!"

"Ha!" Sandy shouted. "_'In love'_? That's a laugh. People who are in love do not turn their partners into needy sycophants, but that's exactly what you've done to Kurt. And, I know for a fact that you and him have never even _had_ sex. So while you were seducing that shy little girl, making her come-on to Schuester so you could take those damning pictures of him which resulted in him losing his job, losing his wife, and being incarcerated; and while you were banging that Sebastian boy to soak him for information on the Warblers' ultra-secret program for the Regionals competition; and while you even brought Sebastian here so we could both go at him from each end and secretly record the event for blackmail material, him gagging on your _pee-pee_ while I wrecked his smooth, creamy ass from behind; through all of that, you still have Kurt believing that you're some angel, that you're old-fashioned or something, that you're saving it for when you and he get _married_, all the while holding your affection over his head, threatening him that if he doesn't support you in every way, you'll throw a tantrum and leave him. And, of course, perfect little Kurt always comes crawling back to Blaine with tears in his eyes. That's not love, and don't tell _me_ you don't have much to lose, Blaine. We're both just lucky that the little shy girl you soiled and that Sebastian-muffin were both eighteen years old, or we'd literally be in hot water. Don't forget, I've lost it all before. It's nothing new to me. You, on the other hand, would have to answer to your family, the pre-teen girls who mindlessly _adore_ you, and your _precious_ Kurt Hummel. He'd probably have a nervous breakdown if he found out what you were _really_ up to behind his back. Word of our little scandal getting out would fuck you up permanently, like what I just did to you cute little ass."

Blaine was almost completely dressed, a scowl on his face. He was in a hurry to leave because he knew Sandy was right. For the time being, Blaine had every solo he wanted and was the featured face of the New Directions, but all that came at a price: Blaine was Sandy's toy, and Sandy had him right where he wanted him.

Sandy had slipped on a pair of sweatpants and, still shirtless and flabby, watched Blaine hastily make for the door, past the glass cases of weird and creepy dolls which Sandy collected obsessively.

"I think I see a wet spot on the seat of your trousers," Sandy teased as Blaine reached for the doorknob, turning back to silently scowl at the older man once more. "I think your ass is still leaking," Sandy added with a chuckle before punctuating in a high-pitched, mocking tone, "You just got poked by the _dagger_."

Blaine slammed the door as he exited Sandy's house. He hastily made his way to his car, touching the rear of his pants to see if there was any truth to Sandy's teasing words; to his relief there wasn't: it felt moist, but wouldn't be visibly wet, well-hidden given the black jeans he was wearing.

As he climbed into his car and began on his way, he recounted the events described by Sandy before he left. He remembered the rage and disillusionment he felt when Mr. Schuester awarded Tina and Artie with solos which should have been his. He remembered coming to Mr, Ryerson for help with his predicament. He remembered Celia, the shy little senior girl that became enamored with him, the girl he got drunk with and deflowered in order to exercise his control over her, to compel her to stage an elaborate set-up which resulted in the damning photos which rendered Mr. Schuester jobless and in prison, his marriage in wreckage. Then there was the seduction of Sebastian. By that time, it was easy. Blaine had the upper-hand and teased Sebastian shamelessly. It was easy to get the Warblers' setlist, and just as easy to get Sebastian to agree to that bizarre threesome with Sandy Ryerson. By that time, Sandy had taken over the New Directions and made wild promises to Sebastian that he'd use his influence to make a teen-idol out of him just as he had with Blaine. How Blaine was able to accomplish all of this without giving himself away to Kurt was not miraculous, but it was a great deal of work. When Blaine left Celia heartbroken after taking her virginity and using her to destroy Schuester, he mentally abused her into being quiet. It wasn't long before she suffered a breakdown and her parents had to pull her out of McKinley altogether. Sebastian was silenced by Blaine's threats of posting a video of the Sandy-Blaine-Sebastian threesome online, with Blaine's and Sandy's faces digitally obscured, of course. The only person left to talk, the only part of the web of deceit who hadn't been taken out of the scheme, was Ryerson himself, and he had just as much to lose as Blaine did. They were locked in a pact of mutually-assured destruction should either go public. It wasn't an ideal situation for Blaine, but it worked well enough for the moment.

Blaine drove into the lot of the coffee shop and parked; he saw that Kurt was inside the coffee shop waiting for him. Kurt had Blaine's coffee already at the table. Upon seeing Blaine, Kurt stood up to greet him, smiling happily. Blaine returned the smile, but when Kurt approached to hug him, Blaine's face soured, and he snapped away from Kurt.

"I can't have you doing that, Kurt," Blaine warned. "What would happen if one of my fans saw so obvious a flamboyant sissy-boy as you hugging me in public?"

"I'm sorry, Blaine," Kurt hung his head. "It won't happen again."

Blaine softened and held his hand upward, patting Kurt's shoulder gently. "It's okay," Blaine began, "It's just my career; we really need to watch what we do in public."

"I know," Kurt said quietly as he still faced downward toward the linoleum. "I'll try not to let it happen again." Kurt waited a moment before he spoke, almost whispered, "It's been weeks since you last kissed me."

"And it's going to be even longer," Blaine said, uncaring, as he shook his head. "It's bad for my image. I can't be doing that, especially in a public place."

Both boys sat at the table, and sipped their coffee. Blaine grimaced.

"What _is_ this?" he spat as he pulled the paper cup away form his mouth, an expression of profound distaste.

"It's your coffee order," Kurt said softly, "A mocha latte with a shot of espresso."

Blaine's face became tough and he shook his head in disgust. "My coffee order is a mocha latte with a _double_-shot of espresso. Can't you ever get _anything_ right, Kurt?"

Kurt frowned and remained silent, eyes focused on the formica-topped table before him.

"Let's change the subject," Blaine finally said, pushing the coffee away from him, "What were you doing before you came out here to meet me?"

"Well," Kurt's face formed a small smile, "I went to visit Dave Karofsky."

Blaine's expression remained sour. "Why would you do _that_?"

"Dave and I are _friends_, and he really doesn't have many people around," Kurt answered. "Most of his old friends don't want anything to do with him, and his mom left. Aside from his dad and a couple of other friends, he's really alone. When he was in the hospital after he tried to kill himself, I told him we'd be friends, so I went to visit him."

Blaine rolled his eyes and, with a stoic face, spoke with extreme sarcasm. "Oh, that's just _sweet_, Kurt. If I played the violin, I'd play a sad, sad song for Karofsky. What did you and Karofsky _do_ while you were visiting him?"

"Well," a small smile and laugh returned to Kurt's face after he showed confusion to Blaine's initial reaction. "We were watching a college football game. You know how I never really understood football, and you'd always want to watch the college games? Well, Dave said that we'd watch a game together and he'd explain some things so I'd have a better understanding of them, and I'd enjoy them more if you and I watched one together."

Blaine's face remained firm. "I don't want you hanging out with Karofsky any longer."

_"Why?"_ Kurt voiced high-pitched through a pained expression. "He doesn't _have_ anyone, and he has nothing but good things to say about you, and he _respects_ the relationship you and I have together."

"I don't want you hanging around him anymore, Kurt." Blaine's eyes were hard and his tone of voice was stern and strict. "I am glad you're back from New York, at least."

"Oh, that's just temporary," Kurt said. "Now that Rachel and I have a place picked out, I'll be moving up there permanently in about two weeks."

_"Like hell you will,"_ Blaine spat out at Kurt.

"But _Blaine_," Kurt's tone was almost hysterical, pleading at this point. "You _encouraged_ me to move there. Part of this was _your_ idea!"

"That was before I realized that I couldn't keep an eye on you there. No. You're going to stay right here in Lima. I don't care if you have to get another crappy job here at the Lima Bean again. This is where you stay if you want me, and I _know_ you want me." Blaine's face was smug and vindictive. "This is your life now, Kurt."

Kurt sniffed, beginning to cry. "Well, I am thankful to have such a great boyfriend in you, Blaine, someone who puts me first and looks out for me, someone who'd do anything to protect what we have." Kurt's last words were almost indecipherable as he completely broke down into a sob.

"That's right," Blaine nodded, voicing smug agreement. "It's good that you know your place, Kurt Hummel."


	2. We'll Always Have Lima

******This chapter was originally a one-shot story; it has been collected with its prior and sequel one-shots into this piece.**

**Warnings: references to attempted suicide, adult language, adult situations, depictions of abusive relationships.**

******I do not own any part of Glee nor the characters or references therein.**

**Approximate words this chapter: 5,500**

* * *

_This was odd_, Dave thought. It had been five days since he'd heard from Kurt. They'd watched a college football game together last Saturday afternoon, but there'd been no word from Kurt since. Dave had texted him a few times since then, but received no reply. He wasn't sure when he texted Kurt, but it was definitely days ago. Kurt didn't necessarily respond to Dave's text messages immediately, but he always did within a matter of hours at the very least.

It was Thursday afternoon, and Dave assumed that Kurt was busy, what with his imminent move to New York on the horizon; but the lack of response from Kurt remained mysterious. Dave checked his phone. He'd texted Kurt three times since Monday. He decided that perhaps he'd done or said something that bothered Kurt that Saturday afternoon when they last saw each other. He turned to his laptop screen and decided to send Kurt an email. This would permit him the convenience of giving a more wordy reply than a brief text message (and he wouldn't necessarily be bothered if the reply wasn't timely).

_Hey Kurt_

_I texted you a few times since Saturday, but I hadn't heard back. I hope everything is alright. I hope you are alright. Having not heard from you, I can't say. I also hope I didn't say or do anything that bothered you. I know my track record isn't exactly spotless where that's concerned. Please let me know what's up at your convenience._

_Thanks.  
__Dave_

* * *

The message twisted Kurt's insides when he opened and read it. He'd intentionally ignored Dave's text messages earlier in the week because on Saturday, the day Kurt had last seen Dave, Blaine had forbade Kurt further contact with the other boy. Kurt knew that Dave was lonely and had few friends; and Kurt knew that Dave valued having him in his life. Kurt also sincerely enjoyed Dave's company. They weren't exactly best friend material perhaps, but they were interested enough in the act of _being_ friends to make exceptions and be nominally interested in each other's different worlds. Dave's gesture of watching a college football game with Kurt, after all, was meant to help Kurt relate to Blaine's interests more.

Kurt knew that he at least owed Dave an answer, but he opted for the briefest, most painless one possible. He replied to the email, brief and concise; and it pained him to do so.

_Dave,_

_I cannot associate with you any longer. It was nothing you did or said. Please leave it at that._

_Kurt_

As Kurt hit the send button on his laptop, he felt like his actions wounded him on the inside, but he was glad, relieved, that he didn't need to address Dave with these words in person.

Kurt's coffee had cooled to a drinkable temperature, and the ambient, distinctive sounds of the Lima Bean surrounded him. Once the heavy task of answering Dave's email had been addressed, he felt like he could put it out of his head and enjoy a piece of tiramisu with his coffee. This afternoon was his and he wouldn't be meeting Blaine until after dinner. Kurt calmed as he inhaled the warmth of his latte until his phone sprang to life, buzzing with an incoming call.

It was from Dave. Kurt nearly panicked. He thought to hit the reject button or ignore it outright, but he couldn't. He knew he owed David more than the cold email message he'd just sent him; and the ghosts of Kurt's guilty conscience concerning nine ignored calls from Dave last February were fresh enough that Kurt did answer the call.

"Heh-_hello?_" Kurt said quietly, shyly, into his phone.

"Kurt. It's Dave." Dave's voice was loud but touched with an edge of anxiety. He sounded slightly shaken. "What did I do wrong?"

Kurt's breathed shakily into the phone. "You didn't do anyth-thing. I just can't talk to you any more."

_"Why?"_ Dave's response was shrill, high-pitched.

"Dave, just leave it at that." Kurt's voice became firm, but he felt like bursting into tears.

"Where are you?" Dave asked, his tone shaky but demanding. "I hear noise. You're in a restaurant or the Lima Bean or something."

"I-ah... G'bye." With a loud dismissal, Kurt ended the call and inhaled, exhausted by the brief exchange. He broke down into hears almost immediately. It was so unfair of Blaine to demand of him to stop all contact with Dave. Dave was nearly alone, and Kurt, though not necessarily a _best_ friend, was indeed a valued person in Dave's life. Kurt closed his laptop, lay his head down on the fomica tabletop, wrapped his arms around his head, and shed silent, pitiful tears into the sleeves of his sweater.

Kurt must have been sobbing for more than a few minutes when the door of the coffeshop made a loud noise. Kurt didn't look up until a familiar voice roused him from the darkness of his moist, closed eyelids.

"Kurt, excuse my French, but what the fuck is going on?"

Kurt looked up to see a demanding Dave Karofsky standing in front of the table at which he sat. Though the focus of his demanding words was different, the tone, penetrating eyes, and nearly-scowling facial expression were familiar from the angry Karofsky boy which Kurt remembered well from the halls of McKinley. Kurt was taken aback, and his startled, nearly panicked, expression stung Dave internally, but Dave's face didn't show it. Kurt's friendship apparently meant enough to Dave that he'd at least put up a fight to keep it. Kurt's expression shifted from panic to a frown, mouth tight and crumpled, finally a living mask of tragedy. Dave's steely expression and aggressive tone softened slightly upon seeing Kurt's tears.

"Kurt, what's wrong? Why are you crying?" Dave spoke quietly with a hint of urgency as he took a seat cross the table from Kurt.

"I care about you, Dave, and I want to be your friend," Kurt began, quietly, a sobbing scratchiness evident in his voice, "and it's not out of pity or anything like that, Dave, I see you as a really good friend."

Dave's brow creased, head tilted, confused. "Then why did you tell me you can't talk to me anymore?" Dave's words were thick-sounding and soft but direct, earnest.

Kurt was silent save for a loud, almost wheezing exhaling sound as he collected himself enough to speak. "Blaine doesn't want me associating with you or being friends with you or talking to you."

Dave's body was pitched forward, head facing downward, eyes looking upward toward Kurt's face. Kurt was facing downward toward the table. Dave was silent also for a time. Finally, Dave lifted his head, his lips were pursed, expression hard and eyes indifferent. He raised an eyebrow and turned his head in both directions as if nervously looking around for people who might be watching, then stopped his head at the center facing Kurt directly.

_"Why?"_

"I don't know, David," Kurt's voice was a defeated whine. "I've told him I don't know how many times that you respect our relationship and that you and I are just friends. He's been really controlling lately, and I don't know what to do about it."

Dave shook his head and set his eyes on Kurt. He appeared angry. This was the face of McKinley Karofsky: heated internal rage. He nodded his head again, focusing instead on the table and the floor, cooling himself, controlling an eventual reaction. When he stopped nodding, he lifted his eyes toward Kurt's face. Kurt appeared worried, frightened that the monster that was Karofsky had reawakened after sleeping dormant, hibernating for over a year. When he spoke, though, his voice was conversational and genteel, though his eyes were afire and his words stung in their brutal honesty.

"The Kurt that helped me, helped me in ways he probably was never fully aware of, the Kurt that was so strong that he withstood every abuse and attack I threw at him when we both went to McKinley, the Kurt that was himself and did what he wanted to do despite the reactions he received and the disparaging remarks and hateful words, the Kurt who taught me through example not to hate myself: what the fuck happened to that guy?"

Kurt looked at Dave, stunned and lacerated by his words, but remained speechless.

"See, Kurt, if you don't want to be my friend, that hurts, I'm not gonna lie, but I'll get over it," Dave continued with a determined edge, not unlike his McKinley self, minus the sarcasm. "That's something else you taught me. If someone rejects me, I roll with it and move on. I can't imagine why Blaine wants it that way; but I know this: the Kurt I remember, the one that taught me all of this stuff? He was stronger than that. He wouldn't have cared. He would have been friends with whomever he wanted to be friends with regardless of what anyone else thought or told him to do. Now, if you don't want to be my friend of your own judgement or something? That's cool. Like I said, it hurts because you've been a good friend despite how horrible I was to you in the past; _but,_ if you're throwing this away because someone else told you that they want you to for whatever reason, well, you can _do_ that, that's your choice; but I can't respect it, and I don't respect you _for_ it. It's not the Kurt I remember. And given that you're crying over this right now, and that it's taken you almost a week to tell me this, and, even at that, I had to drive out here to get an explanation out of you, well, that tells me that it's not something you _want_ to do. It's something that someone _else_ wants you to do."

"But Blaine's my _boyfriend_," Kurt spoke defensively with urgent eyes to Dave's unmoved countenance.

"Doesn't matter," Dave answered, sounding analytical and somewhat indifferent. "As a friend, I would never make you choose between being friends with me or anyone else. As your boyfriend, I don't think Blaine should be forcing that choice upon you either. I mean, it would be different if I was a bad influence on you or something, but I'm not."

Kurt turned away, as if he had trouble facing the logic in Dave's words. It was Dave's first inclination to reach across the table and hold Kurt's hand, but he wouldn't allow himself to do that. The decision was Kurt's to make, and it was one that shouldn't be influenced by anyone's emotions other than Kurt's. Dave moved in his seat, backing away from the table, as if making a motion to stand and leave.

"Well, I _did_ want to see you one last time before you left for New York to make your move permanent," Dave began, his expression shifting, hinting at sorrow; the harder visage was gone. "I just wish it could have been happier."

"I won't be moving to New York," Kurt's reply stopped Dave dead in his seat. Dave addressed Kurt with surprised, almost angry eyes as Kurt furthered, "Blaine doesn't want me to do that either." Kurt's voice was quiet as if the admission of the words shamed him.

David shook his head and stood, his face nearly a scowl. "That's not the Kurt I remember either, but I'm not going to hang around to figure any of this out. I guess I'll be running into you here in Lima at some point, at least until I finish getting my GED and moving on myself. Take it easy, Kurt."

Dave walked to the exit door of the coffee shop without turning around. Kurt set his gaze to the untouched piece of tiramisu, the latte no longer warm. He turned his neck just in time to see the door close upon Dave's exit and turned again toward the table, pained expression in place.

Dave climbed into his truck, shaking his head. There were times he felt that he didn't understand his place in the world in the least; at this moment, however, he felt certain that he had to turn his back on Kurt. He'd said what he felt he needed to say and left Kurt to do with it what he would. Dave wasn't sad; he wasn't even really hurt. He was perplexed, but unemotional. He shed no tears. Dave started his truck and drove away.

* * *

Dave was alone in his bedroom the following Sunday night. He and his father had just returned from this father's parent's house, having eaten dinner there. Since Dave's mother had left, Sunday dinner at Dave's grandparents' house had become commonplace as his father's parents were accepting of Dave, and it gave them all a sense of family which had been shaken since the departure of Dave's mom. Otherwise, Dave had made friends with a few other local gay and gay-friendly youths online, and they sometimes met on the weekends at local coffee shops and bookstores. Sunday evenings such as this one were sometimes lonely for Dave, but he sometimes appreciated his time alone.

This particular evening would be spent watching football games on TV with his dad, but Dave wanted to check his email before the evening games began. He was greeted with a message from Kurt. Though he'd thought about Kurt in the few days since last seeing him at the Lima Bean, he hadn't dwelled on the subject: if he'd lost a friend in Kurt, Dave had resigned himself to the reality that there wasn't much he could do about it.

For this reason, perhaps, he was even more surprised by the email when he read the two-word subject line: _Thank you_. Dave opened the message immediately with some level of trepidation which was offset by the gracious subject line.

_David,_

_Thank you for coming to talk with me the other day. You made some strong points which helped me to rationally confront my situation, and I am very grateful for your concern and words. I will be moving to New York. I'll be leaving Monday morning._

_Your brief words and presence helped me immeasurably. I am going to miss you._

_Ciao.  
__Kurt_

Dave immediately reached for his cell phone and shot a text message to Kurt.

_Hi. I just read your email. Can I assume everything is going to be okay?_

Kurt's response was almost immediate.

_Hi. Yes, I am very busy trying to accomplish a lot of packing right now, but I wanted to be sure that you knew I was leaving._

Suddenly energized, Dave checked the time. It was still early in the evening. He dashed downstairs and told his dad that he was leaving for a short while to visit Kurt. He wanted to say goodbye to Kurt in person, and this was probably the last time he'd see him for an indefinite period of time.

Kurt's house was dark in the dusky landscape, but Dave could see lights on in the upstairs and the sense of movement within. Dave rang the doorbell. The door opened, and Dave could see Kurt greeting him, dimly backlit, in silhouette. Kurt was wearing a sporty fedora tilted to one side and worn unusually far down on his forehead.

"Dave," Kurt's voice was hushed, "what are you doing here?"

"I wanted to say goodbye to you before you left," Dave's answer was quiet also, perhaps slightly nervous. "I thought that maybe I could help you pack also."

Kurt ushered Dave into the house and spoke, somewhat more loudly, closing the door behind them. "You didn't have to do that, Dave. My dad and Carole are out, but they'll be back soon to help me with my packing."

"Kurt, I have no idea when the next time I see you will be," Dave explained, a smile forming on his face. "I wanted to tell you that I'm happy that you decided to go to New York, and, if I made a difference in your decision, I am very happy that I could help you that way."

As Dave followed Kurt into a more well-lit part of the house, Kurt turned to face Dave, a grateful smile on his face. "Dave, you helped me to come to make that decision. I know that you were just speaking your mind and had no real intent of swaying me, but it got me to think."

Dave's face puzzled. "Why are you wearing that hat indoors?"

Kurt answered, "I-I wanted to take it with me, but I didn't want to forget..."

Before Kurt could finish, Dave had reached out and snatched the hat from Kurt's head, exposing a large purplish-black bruise on his forehead. Dave could see a small line of a scab under the hairline where the skin had broken. "What the fuck happened?"

Kurt began to tremble. "Dave, so much has happened in the past two days."

"Did _he_ do this to you?" Dave's voice raised, almost yelling, "Did _Blaine_ do this to you?"

Kurt's silent tears followed, confirming Dave's assumption to be correct.

"Shit, Kurt," Dave's tone softened. "I hope you at least hit him back or something."

At this Kurt's face pulled into a pained-looking frown. Kurt approached David closely who then instinctively lifted his arms, albeit nervously, to embrace Kurt.

"Kurt, what happened?" Dave's voice sounded quiet, understanding, and purposeful but nearly exhausted.

"There was this other guy who was at the coffee shop," Kurt began. "He saw you and me talking, and he wanted to talk to me, but he said he didn't want to talk to me while you were there. He said he knew you but also that the two of you were never really properly introduced. Well, anyway, he waited until you left, and he told me some things about Blaine. Really _horrible_ things. That afternoon, I went to McKinley, to the choir room, it was after school, and I confronted Blaine about it."

"What did this guy tell you about Blaine?" Dave asked, quietly still, "What kinds of horrible things?"

"I don't want to talk about it, but the guy had proof, a video he showed me on his phone," Kurt furthered. "When I left the Lima Bean I went straight to McKinley, and I told Blaine that I knew about him and that I was moving to New York and that I didn't want to see him again. I was crying, and it hurt, but I did it. I could tell he was mad, but he didn't say anything. He couldn't say anything, really. He just stood there with an angry look on his face. I don't think I've ever seen a scarier face on anybody."

"You stood up for yourself, Kurt, that's the important thing," Dave spoke, quietly again.

"The choir room was empty except for me and Blaine," Kurt continued. "As I turned to leave, Blaine grabbed me and shoved me hard, and I fell forward into the piano. My head hit a corner. That's how I got this bruise. I just left after that. It was all I could do to pick myself back up and walk out of there, but I did. I was already in the hall by the time he started running after me, and there were a few people around, witnesses. He couldn't exactly chase after me."

"Wow, Kurt, that could have been serious; you might have had a concussion," Dave exhaled. "Were you bleeding?"

"Just a little," Kurt assured. "Not enough to make a mess or anything."

"I had no idea Blaine was capable of that," Dave spoke.

Kurt remained silent. Kurt remained silent for an uncomfortable length of time. "I could see signs of it when I was going to Dalton. Like when someone disagreed with him, but, there at Dalton, the other kids all just adored him and he always got his way in the end. When he transferred to McKinley, he actually had to compete with other students. That brought out his bad side. When Mr Schuester got fired, it seemed like he had that new glee-club teacher wrapped around his finger." Kurt stopped and looked downward, burying his face, seeming ashamed to talk. "Everything makes sense in retrospect. Mr. Schue getting fired, Blaine getting everything he wants form the new head of the glee club, Blaine never seeming to want to..." Kurt's voice trailed off and the final words of the sentence were exhaled, _"...touch me."_

Dave held Kurt in his arms. He liked being this close to Kurt, to feel that Kurt had a level of physical trust with him; but it still made him somewhat uneasy. They were only just friends, and Dave still had some problems to work out with his own comfort level where being physically close to another man was concerned, even in a friendly sense. Regardless, though, Dave considered Kurt to be a friend, and he wanted Kurt to feel like Dave was there for him. Dave uncomfortably pressed on.

"I don't exactly know what you mean here, Kurt," Dave voiced in a near-whisper.

Kurt was silent for a moment. He closed his eyes tightly and his eyes watered almost as if someone compressed a wet sponge in their hand; Dave's sweatshirt drank Kurt's tears. "Blaine and I are finished," Kurt sounded scratchy and shaky, "There's no way I can trust him again."

"Damn," Dave's nervousness became palpable. "I really don't know what to say."

"It was all in that video," Kurt spoke desperate-sounding. "I can't talk about that. I can't bring myself to talk about it except that I feel like I need to leave here as soon as I can."

"Did this person know what they were doing when they showed it to you?" Dave asked, shaky but trying to be understanding.

"He said that he wanted me to know the truth about what was going on," Kurt answered, sounding more grounded. "He said that he needed to come clean about some things, to be a better person. I hated hearing what he said. At first, I didn't believe him, but then the video proved everything. As much as it devastated me, I'm glad I know the truth. I feel liberated and free to leave here."

"Have you told anyone else?"

"No, not really," Kurt answered. "My dad and Carole. Everyone else just knows that Blaine and I are done and that I'm leaving town. So few people are supporting me on this. They think I'm being rash to leave Blaine."

"Kurt, if Blaine did something to hurt you, and then he, like, _physically_ hurt you, how can _anyone_ think you should stay with Blaine?" Dave reasoned.

Kurt exhaled loudly, almost a sigh. His words were indifferent and revelatory. "Everyone thinks Blaine is headed for stardom. You should see it when the school puts on a showchoir event or a musical. These..._throngs_ of teenaged and preteen girls arrive with their middle-aged moms. They literally _swoon_ to be in his presence. Even though I told my dad everything that happened and how hurt I am by Blaine, even my dad told me to think it over and not be so rash. I mean, he's supporting my decision to leave, but he told me to give it some thought, as if my feelings of betrayal weren't important."

"Pardon me if this is outta line, but that's fucked-up," Dave offered, no hesitancy in his tone. "That goes against everything I know about your dad. He pinned my ass up against the wall in the hall at McKinley, defending you, and I respected the hell out of him for that. And it scared the fuck outta me. Now, you're telling me that _he_ expects _you_ to excuse Blaine's bad behavior?"

"I don't think my dad and all of my friends think I can do better than Blaine," Kurt admitted, sadness and defeat in his voice.

"Kurt, fuck," Dave scrambled to process what Kurt had just revealed. "Regardless of how great Blaine might seem on a superficial level, I can't believe that you deserve that. I might not have ever been in a relationship or even on a real date with anyone, but I _gotta_ believe that you deserve _better_ than that, Kurt." Dave paused for a moment before he continued. "You gotta be strong here. That's what you told me all those months ago when I was outted and tried to kill myself. I lost a lot of friends in that. Okay, you just lost a boyfriend, and, yeah, that's a _big_ thing. And, yeah, it sounds like there aren't many people on your side here, but you hafta stand up for yourself. You're doing that. You're moving; you're getting outta this place because you know you need to. Even if most of the other people aren't behind you on this, _I_ am. Maybe that should count for something. When I was in that hospital room, I felt so alone, and you came and made it clear that I had your support as a friend, and that meant enough to me to get myself out of that state of mind."

"Dave," Kurt's tone was almost tired-sounding. "We were in _high school_ then. This is so different. I felt like I had a safely net then. This feels like the real world, like I'm on my own."

_"I almost died, Kurt,"_ Dave reminded, and the gravity of the reminder stunned Kurt as Dave continued. "I'm telling you right now that the same applies to you, no matter how alone or afraid you might feel."

Kurt pressed his face closer to Dave's chest and spoke, slightly muffled. "I want you to know that this is what I need to hear right now. Even if you're the only person who's saying it to me."

"You've been a friend to me," Dave answered, nervously closing his arms loosely around Kurt. "I want to be the same kind of friend for you that you were for me. I gotta tell you, if I see Blaine around town somewhere, I might not be held accountable for what happens."

"What do you mean, Dave?"

"Kurt, Blaine _hurt_ you. He hurt you _physically_." Dave's voice was quiet but purposeful. "I can't guarantee that I'm not going to want to hurt him right back for that."

Kurt smiled, though he felt as if he shouldn't. He was somehow charmed by the comment, wrong as the reaction felt. "Please, don't do that Dave." Kurt didn't sound genuine, speaking more out of conscience than what he really wanted. Kurt was silent for a moment before adding, "You'd really do that for me." Kurt wasn't asking; he was stating.

"Yes, absolutely I would," Dave answered as if it was a question.

Kurt was silent, sniffling for a moment, but regaining his composure. Moments passed in silence as Kurt's hand slowly shifted from around Dave's side to downward, to Dave's knee, then to the inside of Dave's thigh, then upward. Dave's body stiffened and he cringed outright when Kurt's hand softly cupped Dave's crotch.

"Kurt," Dave started, backing away slightly. "What are you _doing_?"

"You're being so good to me, and I feel so close to you right now, and I want to... give you..._ something_." Kurt's voice sounded unfazed by Dave's reaction.

"No, Kurt, this isn't right. It's for the wrong reason," Dave spoke firmly, backing away to a greater degree as Kurt's hands fell from him. "You've been a friend to me, and I'm being a friend to you. There's no compensation due for something like that. Friendship as I know it doesn't work that way. You'd have never expected anything like that from me, right?"

"I was with _Blaine_ at the time, and look where my devotion to him got _me_," Kurt countered.

"Kurt, you're really confused right now," Dave observed. "This thing, like, Blaine's betrayal has really messed with your sense of judgement. Just leave it at that."

"Dave, I think I love you," Kurt murmured.

Dave's confusion multiplied visibly as he shook his head. "No, Kurt, please. Think about this. You don't really love me. Not _that_ way. Not for _this_. I'm doing what any real friend would do. I'm supporting your decisions, and I'm giving you my objective opinion, and I expect nothing in return. You maybe have this kind-of friendship-love for me, and that's how I feel about you too, b-but it-it doesn't go further that."

Kurt backed away, face and expression of shame, and sat in the living room chair, drawing his knees up toward his chest, curling in isolation, rocking slightly, nervously. Dave approached the chair and crouched beside it at, his face at Kurt's eye-level. Kurt could not address Dave directly.

"Kurt, I gotta say, with everything that happened to me since February, I lost almost all of my close friends; or I guess I should say, people that I thought were my close friends. I have some new friends, but I wouldn't say any of them are really close. My dad's been pretty awesome, but he's my dad. As much as he might want to relate to me on my level, he's still gotta be my dad first. You know, you and me haven't spent a lot of time together since you told me that we were friends, last February in that hospital room, but you're the closest thing I have to a best friend right now. I don't think I'm overstepping any line by assuming that, considering the events of the past few days, _I'm_ probably the closest thing _you_ have to a best friend, but we really barely know each other."

With that Kurt lifted his head. He was smiling at Dave, but the tracks of his tears were visibly active.

"This isn't over," Dave spoke. "You're going to New York, but we're going to stay in touch. I don't know when we'll see each other again. Maybe once I get this GED stuff under my belt, I'll be able to come visit you in New York. That is if you're okay with me doing that."

Kurt smiled more genuinely and nodded affirmatively.

"And maybe you'll come back to Lima occasionally, and if I'm still around, we'll get together and hang out," Dave said. "Catch-up and stuff... but I don't plan on being around here much longer either. I wanna go to college somewhere else, even if it's just Cleveland or something. My academic record isn't spotless, but I'm not a dumb guy. Maybe I could get into Case Western or maybe NYU."

Kurt's smile became more obvious and enthusiastic.

"And, like I said, we're going to keep in touch," Dave furthered. "If you need a reminder that there's someone out there who's got your back, I'm as close as your phone or your laptop. If you need me to become aggressively bothersome to remind you that you're not alone, I'll do that. You did that much for me."

Kurt laughed warmly and nodded. The tears had stopped flowing. "Really good, almost-best friends then?"

Dave smiled crookedly at Kurt, laying his hands on Kurt's shoulders as Kurt's posture returned to a normal sitting one. "That sounds about right," Dave said. "Now, maybe I can help you do some packing. We might as well do stuff together and learn about each other if we're gonna be stuck with each other, right?"


	3. L'Homme Invisible

******This chapter was originally a one-shot story; it has been collected with its prior and sequel one-shots into this piece.**

**Warnings: references to attempted suicide, adult language, graphic descriptions of sexual encounters, depictions of abusive relationships.**

******I do not own any part of Glee nor the characters or references therein.**

**Approximate words this chapter: 3,000**

* * *

He was quiet, making his best effort to go unnoticed, to fade into the background, and he was succeeding. He wanted to talk to Kurt, and it didn't appear to be the best time to do so, but he didn't know when he might get another such opportunity. He couldn't ask Blaine for Kurt's phone number or email address. The time for that was over. The time for playing nice was over. He'd completely underestimated Blaine's capacity for treachery, and he was shamed by his actions and the web of deceit into which Blaine led him.

From across the coffee shop, he regarded Kurt's slumped figure. A minute ago, Kurt had seated himself alone at a table with a drink and a dessert and opened his laptop. He watched Kurt read and type and answer his phone. Then he watched Kurt close his laptop and put his head down onto the table, wrapping his arms around his face as if to hide himself from the world. Or maybe Kurt was just tired and resting his eyes. Being that this opportunity wouldn't present itself every day, he thought, after some minutes, to walk over to Kurt; he truly felt he needed to speak with him. Kurt needed to be made aware.

Just as he stirred in his seat, preparing to rise and approach Kurt, he saw the husky boy enter the Lima Bean, appearing almost urgent. He knew the larger boy's name: Dave Karofsky; he'd spoken with Dave briefly on one other occasion, and he knew some of Dave's story: semi-closet case, cruelly outted at school, failed suicide attempt. All of that was months ago. Dave didn't appear sad or depressed though, but he did seem intense and intent as he took the seat across the tiny table from Kurt and spoke for a short while, mere minutes really, before standing and leaving without so much as a discernable farewell. Kurt craned his head around, a sad and uncertain expression, as the door closed upon Dave's exit. This might not be the best time to talk to Kurt, but he decided that it might be his only opportunity. He rose, coffee in hand, and drifted silently toward Kurt's table.

"Kurt?"

Kurt gasped, completely startled. "Sebastian? You scared the crap out of me."

"I'm pretty good with the stealthy approach and being unnoticed when I want to be," Sebastian answered quietly. "Mind if I have a seat? I'd like to talk to you."

Kurt, seeming somewhat relieved, not nearly as defensive as he'd been around Sebastian in the past, shook his head and nodded toward the vacant seat. "Be my guest. Sit. Please."

"That was Dave Karofsky who was just here, wasn't it?" Sebastian asked, already knowing the answer.

"Yeah," Kurt answered, a drooping sadness in his voice.

"I want to talk to Dave sometime, but I really don't know how to approach him," Sebastian admitted. "I do really feel like I need to talk to him though. Well, I really don't know how I'd even get in touch with him."

"I can maybe give him your phone number or email address if you're okay with that, and he can get in touch with you at his convenience," Kurt offered.

"That sounds good," Sebastian reached into his pocket and produced a business card. "All of that information is on here."

Kurt eyed the card, his face producing a puzzled smirk. "A _Warblers_ business card?"

Sebastian rolled his eyes, betraying a level of embarrassment. "Yes."

"Not wearing your Dalton blazer today?"

Sebastian shook his head. "I've made a mess of things. Nine months ago, I promised myself and the people who I've messed with in my life, whether I'd mildly insulted them or fucked them over outright, that I'd be a better person, and, contrary to that promise, I just kept on being a dickhead. I need a clean start. I'm transferring out of Dalton and leaving the Warblers. The contact information on my card is valid. I even managed to fuck the Warblers over, and I completely knew what I was doing so I have no one to blame but myself."

Kurt's face scowled as if in pain. "Wow. What happened?"

"Kurt, I need to talk to you about some things," Sebastian addressed. "It won't be easy for me to talk about, and it won't be easy for you to hear; but I need to come clean about some things. I don't know if I feel comfortable talking about them in a public place like this."

Kurt's expression became more defensive. "Sebastian, you don't exactly have a glowing track record where I am concerned."

"I-I know, Kurt," Sebastian voiced nervously, "but his could be a potentially rough conversation."

Kurt huffed, attitudinal. "Whatever it is, I'm sure this setting will be fine. Just sit down and make yourself comfortable. I'm sure I'll be ready for whatever you feel you need to get off of your chest to me." Kurt couldn't have known how wrong his words were.

"Okay," Sebastian began, "but I want you to know that I'm not telling you these things because I'm gloating or because I want to cause you pain or anything; I am telling you these things because I feel you should be aware of them."

Kurt was silent, but his expression betrayed impatience, thinking the matter to be ultimately trivial compared to his present concerns.

Sebastian hesitated. "You look annoyed, Kurt."

"I have things on my mind, and I'm under some level of stress lately," Kurt countered, wide-eyed, "Can you please get on with this?"

"Blaine's been having sex with, first, Mr. Ryerson, then me, and maybe other people too, I don't know for sure," Sebastian confessed.

At first Kurt appeared stunned, then, after a couple seconds, hardened his expression. "I don't believe that, Sebastian. Not for a second do I believe that."

"I have proof if you want to see it," Sebastian offered. "It's not pretty, but this whole thing is, I'm sure, very upsetting for you. That's why I offered to take this conversation elsewhere."

"What _proof_ do you have?" Kurt's voice and facial expression challenged frantically as Sebastian remained calm. Sebastian produced his cell phone and punched some buttons, bringing a still-photo to the screen and offering it to Kurt for inspection. Kurt winced when he saw it.

"That's me in the middle," Sebastian explained. "I'm getting fucked by Mr. Ryrerson while Blaine force-fed me his dick. Okay, maybe he wasn't exactly _force_-feeding me, but I'm sure you understand what's going on."

Kurt looked up from the image on the screen. "That's disgusting," Kurt commented. "That could be you and any two other guys. The faces are scrambled."

"C'mon, Kurt," Sebastian urged. "You recognize those clothes Blaine is wearing: the shirt, the sweater-vest, the red-and-navy bowtie."

Kurt momentarily worried, observing the image of the figure to one side, the one wearing the shirt and vest with pants dropped, revealing a fleshy ass partially covered in shirt tails. He did recognize those clothes. He'd given a bowtie just like that one to Blaine for Valentine's Day. But then Kurt regained his resolve. "That's been shopped or something. It's been manipulated. Those are Blaine's _clothes_. That doesn't mean it's _Blaine_."

"You don't have to believe me," Sebastian sounded strangely sincere. "I have nothing to gain from telling you these things besides setting things right. You see, Blaine came onto me to get information about the Warblers' setlist. That's where it started, when Blaine and I began screwing around. When he told me that Ryerson could do for my career what he'd been doing for Blaine's, I became more interested. Then he set up this three-way 'meeting' between us. I didn't know I was being recorded until Blaine sent me the video. By that time, his face and Ryerson's face had been obscured. They were using it to blackmail me so I wouldn't spill about what happened." Sebastian touched a few more buttons on his phone and the image came to life. The sounds of Sebastian's muffled grunts and gags could be heard from the tiny device.

_"That's it, gag on that cock, Warbler boy,"_ a tinny-sounding voice said. It was unmistakably Blaine's diction and delivery.

_"Daddy loves this tight, creamy boy-ass,"_ a fey-sounding older voice added.

Kurt's face melted into a pained, tearful frown. "Turn that off," he yelled nearly unintelligible through tears. "Why would you show me that?"

Sebastian retracted the phone and stopped the play of the video. "You didn't believe me. I wanted you to have proof of what Blaine was doing behind your back. I haven't been a good person to you specifically. After the bad things I've done, I owed you at least that."

"You're _horrible_," Kurt groaned.

"Who's really horrible here?" Sebastian posed a question, "the one who's deceiving you or the one who is trying to correct things by telling you the truth?"

Kurt emitted a guttural noise before he scooped his laptop from the table and stormed from the coffee shop, leaving his latte and tiramisu untouched, coughing and choking on tears and sobs as he staggered to his car. Once inside the car, Kurt spent several minutes hugging the steering wheel, wishing the exchange of the last ten minutes had not happened or that its legitimacy could somehow be called into question. As his tears slowed, his feelings of self-pity and betrayal faded and were replaced by ones of motivation. His eyes soon dried, and he had some things he needed to address with Blaine. The school day had ended, but Blaine would still be there in the choir room, rehearsing with the glee club. Kurt cranked his ignition, backed his car from the parking space which it occupied, and set his course toward William McKinley High School.

* * *

Dave had just finished an online Physics exam for his GED. It was Wednesday afternoon, and he had completed his studies for the day. Logging on to his email account, he noticed a message from Kurt which had arrived a short while earlier. The subject line, _Greetings from NYC_, drew a small, pleasant smile from Dave as he clicked to open the message.

_Dear Dave,_

_I have largely completed my move, though I am still waiting for the arrival of some boxes which my dad and Carole will be shipping to me. As I might have mentioned to you when I was last in Lima, Rachel and I found a large space, almost a small warehouse, which we've converted into a living space. It looks unusual, but it's home, and there's a lot of room here (of course, that might be because we can't afford much furniture yet!). I've attached some pictures to this message so you can see the place. There's plenty of room for a visitor should you want to come visit after you complete your GED. I would certainly love having you then._

_Dave, I know I thanked you last Sunday night when you came over and helped me pack, but I really can't thank you enough for how you helped me find the strength to face my recent struggles. I know it might not be easy here in New York on my own, but I sincerely feel freed of so many things which felt like they were holding me back. I've secured an internship at a fashion firm, and the manager seems like she's very impressed with me, so things may already be looking up._

_Finally, do you recall me telling you about the boy from the coffee shop? The one who told me about what had been going on with Blaine? I had told you that he'd met you though you'd never been properly introduced. He'd like to correct that. His contact information is at the bottom of this message. You can reach him at your convenience via email, phone, or text message. I don't know the circumstances surrounding any involvement you and he might have had in the past, but I can say that, although it caused me a great deal of pain at first, I am thankful for him coming forward with the information about Blaine._

_Dave, thank you, and please keep in touch. You can call or write whenever you like; your greetings are always most welcome._

_Kurt_

* * *

Late Thursday afternoon found Dave at the Lima Bean awaiting the mysterious person known only to Dave as a cell phone number and an email address. He sat alone at a table, occupying himself with a tall coffee and his cell phone when a voice sliced through the calm; David detected neither audibly nor through his peripheral vision the arrival of the other boy.

"Dave Karofsky?" The boy spoke formally.

Dave gazed upward from the screen of his phone. Recognizing the face of the person before him, Dave's brow creased; his expression hardened but remained benign. "That's me," Dave replied, slowly lowering his phone and eventually sliding it into the breast pocket of his heavy flannel shirt.

"Sebastian Smythe," the other boy identified himself, extending a hand to shake Dave's. Dave took his hand, a defensive expression on his face, as Sebastian seated himself opposite Dave.

"Thank you," Sebastian spoke in an approachable tone.

"Thank me for what?" Dave's inflection betrayed a suspicious note.

"Thank you for seeing me, thank you for allowing me this dialogue with you, thank you for shaking my hand," Sebastian answered, "You'd have good reason not to be so polite."

"Maybe, but that was a long time ago," Dave countered.

"It wasn't so long ago, a matter of months," Sebastian said. "Regardless, I said some rude things to you. I can't remember what I said exactly. Back then I had a regrettable habit of saying uncalled-for, rude things to many people."

"You told me I was fat, you insulted my eyebrows, and you told me to get back in the closet," Dave recited, matter-of-fact, almost verbally aggressive.

Sebastian looked away for a moment, shamed at the clarity of Dave's recollection. "I'm sorry about that," he finally said. "I have been trying since then to be a better person. I haven't been, though. I was the person Blaine was having sex with behind Kurt's back. Well, I was one of them."

Dave's expression angered; this was not unnoticed by the other boy.

"All that's over," Sebastian verbally appeased. "It was for the wrong reason..."

"As if there would be a _right_ reason?" Dave cut Sebastian's speech.

"You're right," Sebastian nodded. "It was inexcusable. I thought Blaine and the glee club teacher who'd taken him under his wing would help me in my career pursuits." Sebastian paused, his voice becoming lower in volume and pitch. "They just wanted inside information on a rival glee club, and then they blackmailed me."

Dave's expression softened though he was awed at the moral sewage which Sebastian described. "So, you told Kurt about it. Why? Did you want something out of him?"

"No," Sebastian's answer was quick and emphatic, his expression slightly panicked. "I'm trying to fix what a fucked-up person I've been, okay? I should have apologized to you months ago, and I never should have gotten involved with Blaine and Ryerson to begin with. My ambition has led me to do some very terrible things."

"I respect you for that," Dave admitted, his expression gaining a level of empathy. "It's not easy to come clean. You could have ignored it. I was a pretty terrible person in the past too, but I'm doing my best not to be now."

Sebastian silently nodded, an appreciative, almost thankful, expression.

"There are some things I want to do," Sebastian finally spoke, leaning forward, hushed, urgent, as if passing clandestine words, "Do you think you could help me?"

Dave's head cocked, an eyebrow raised, his mouth skewed. "What do you mean?"

"I'm trying to make things right, and there are a lot of wrong things where Blaine and Ryerson are concerned," Sebastian remarked.

"Who's _Ryerson_?" Dave questioned.

"Mister Ryerson, the new glee club head at McKinley," Sebastian answered. "He's the one responsible for Blaine's career taking off. Together they've destroyed people to achieve Blaine's success."

"This just sounds like personal revenge," Dave sounded dismissive, shaking his head. "I take it that Blaine's done some horrible stuff, I don't doubt that, and he treated Kurt really badly; but I can't say I want to ruin him outside of kicking his ass when next I see him."

Sebastian shook his head. "This isn't about me getting revenge like a vindictive little bitch or something. This is about revealing Blaine for what he really is. He got Mr. Schuester fired and put in jail, not to mention wrecking his marriage. Who knows how many people he's stomped on?"

Dave's eyes narrowed, as he thought, processing what he'd just been told. "If I do this, I'm not doing this to smear Blaine. I'm doing this for Kurt because Blaine wronged him and physically hurt him. Anything that happens to this Ryerson guy or anyone else involved is collateral damage as far as I'm concerned."

Sebastian tilted his head and trained his eyes upon Dave's. "So are you in then?"

Dave nodded, barely detectible. "Yes I am."


	4. La fille Mort-vivant

**Sequel to the story cycle which includes "Keeping the Klaine Love Real", "We'll Always Have Lima", and "L'Homme Invisible". Future pieces of this cycle will arrive as new chapters under the umbrella title "Lima Noir".**

**Warnings: Adult language and descriptions of sexual situations, references to self-harm and mental illness**

******I do not own any part of Glee nor the characters or references therein.**

**Approximate words this chapter 2,000**

* * *

Sebastian surveyed the coffee shop. This was the slow period of the afternoon. The high school students had not yet arrived in droves as the local high schools were just finishing classes for the day. Aside from the baristas behind the counter and one at the other side of the dining area who was occupied with wiping down table-tops and the occasional take-out customer, Sebastian was alone in the place.

Kurt had left the parking lot, probably a minute ago. Minutes before that, he'd stormed out of the Lima Bean in tears and sat in his car to calm himself before driving off. Sebastian had assumed correctly that Kurt's first stop after leaving the Lima Bean would be McKinley High School to confront Blaine. Once Kurt's car disappeared in the distance, Sebastian's face shifted from its sincere, approachable expression to his more quintessential Eddie Haskell smirk which he smugly held while he accessed the contacts list of his cell phone and placed a call.

"Sandy Ryerson of Sanderson management speaking," the answering voice crackled through Sebastian's phone.

"Hey there, _Daddy_," Sebastian's smirk and tone low and flirtatious as always, "It's your favorite love-honey depository, Sebastian, callin' ya."

There was silence for a moment. Mr. Ryerson's eventual response was low with affected control but betraying a hint of nervousness. "Something I can do for you, Sebastian?"

"There's _always_ something Daddy can do for _me_," Sebastian sassed back. "I was hoping maybe a repeat-performance of you and Blainey-boy using my sweet ass and highly-developed oral skills again."

_"Really?"_ Sandy's inflection mixed confusion with interest, intrigue. "But I thought I made it clear that we weren't interested in dealing with you on a more, um, _professional_ level."

"Listen, Daddy, sure I _wanted_ to be a teen heartthrob like your Blainey-boy, but I'd be lying if I said that I wouldn't have done that for free," Sebastian rasped quietly, "I mean great sex is great sex, regardless of whether I'm getting _compensated_ for it otherwise."

_"Hmmm,"_ Sandy's tone became playful. "Well, then, I'm sure we can come to an _amicable_ arrangement, something _mutually beneficial_ then," Sandy's tone was lecherous, unwholesome.

"Oh, by-the-by," Sebastian added, breathy and nonchalant, "I spilled everything to that Kurt Hummel boy, everything about what his dear, sweet Blainey-buck was doing behind his back."

_"Hm...hm...hm hm hm hm hm hm..."_ Sandy's mumbled laughter trailed off.

"That's not going to affect our little slice of heaven, is it?" Sebastian furthered.

"Hmm,_ no_," Sandy dragged out the negation, dismissive. "It was only a matter of time before he found out anyway. This _new_ development will just give me more control over my, um, professional _property_. You've actually done me a _favor_, Sebastian."

"Well, then," Sebastian spoke syrupy through a growing smirk, "maybe you do owe me some more_ tangible_ compensation then."

"You're _good_," Sandy stated, smooth and low. "Maybe we can work _something_ out after all."

"I hope so," Sebastian chuckled. "So, when can we do this?"

"Hmmm..." Sandy hummed. "We have a pretty busy rehearsal schedule what with that concert coming up in two weeks, but next Friday, a week from tomorrow, should work for the both of us."

"Sounds good to me," Sebastian answered, cocky-sounding.

"Great then," Sandy answered. "I'll get in touch with my, um, _client_ and inform him of our upcoming, um, _meeting_. Until then, _adieu_."

"Be good, Daddy," Sebastian teased, "See you next week."

Sebastian ended the call, a smug expression on his face. He checked the time. It had been ten minutes since Kurt left the coffee shop parking lot. Hopefully his state was rational enough for him to drive safely, Sebastian thought. Otherwise, he was expecting a call from an irate Blaine at any moment. Blaine did not disappoint as Sebastian's phone lit up and buzzed with an incoming call less than three minutes after the conversation with Sandy had ended.

"Well, hey there, Blaine," Sebastian spoke teasingly into the phone, "I was expecting you to call."

"Shut it, Sebastian," Blaine's tone was angry and aggressive but hushed as if he was trying to avoid being heard. "You just fucked-up big time. That video of me and Ryerson fucking you from both ends will be sent to the administrators at Dalton within the half-hour. You'll get kicked off of the Warblers and probably get kicked out of school for that."

"Too late," Sebastian retorted, smug. "I resigned from the Warblers and left Dalton earlier this week; so you've got _nothing_ over my head, and I'm free to get into your pants whenever we both get the urge to swap some fluids."

_"What?"_ Blaine's response was short and unamused. "You think I'd touch your slimy ass again after you pulled a shitty stunt like that? We had an agreement, you filth-pig."

"You were _threatening_ me, Blainey," Sebastian corrected, calm and collected. "A threat is _hardly_ an _agreement_. And, you and I _will_ be playing naked again. I already arranged it with Daddy Ryerson about five minutes before you called. We're set to go for a week from tomorrow, next Friday."

_"You went over my head, you prick?"_ Blaine spat the question with particular venom and incredulity.

"Blaine, you are no match for me when it comes to being slimy," Sebastian countered, sounding fatigued. "Leave the nasty stuff to your boss."

"He's _not_ my _boss_," Blaine grumbled.

"Well, whatever he is, you should be damned thankful you have him," Sebastian informed. "You can be all selfish, whiny, and, and belligerent on a personal level, but your bigger-picture organizational skills suck. You're a foot-soldier when it comes to being sneaky. Leave the real nefarious work to Daddy and me. We'll keep you in designer briefs, no worries."

"What are you talking about _'we'_?" Blaine yelled through the phone, sounding as if he was becoming mentally unhinged.

"Calm down, Blainey-boy," Sebastian spoke smoothly. "Just think about the fun we're going to have next Friday with Daddy. That should give your pants a chubby."

"Aw, fuck you, Sebastian."

"Blaine, save the rage for next Friday night, and you can grudge-fuck me to your cock's content," Sebastian harassed. "Looking forward to it, but, until then, _b-bye_."

Sebastian smirked, giggled even, as he heard Blaine end the call without further words. Blaine and Sandy had played into his hands; and Sandy and Sebastian were both pulling Blaine's strings. There was more work to be done, but, for the moment, Sebastian was patient. He might require some assistance, and he had a week to secure the services of another.

* * *

She gazed at the photo, then into the mirror, then at the other photo.

The first image seemed like something from fiction, a fairy tale. _Did this girl ever exist?_ she thought to herself. _Was there ever a full-faced, naturally-pretty, fair-haired innocent? _Or was she just a dream of the person reflected before her now?

The girl who addressed the photo, then the mirror, bore little resemblance. The girl in the mirror's face was chiseled and gaunt, though not unattractive. Her eyes were painted darkly; her hair short and cropped, giving her a sexually indistinct, androgynous appearance when taken together with her hollowed features. She considered the dream. Or was it a memory? Or a fable? Was there ever a girl named Celia?

It was a cautionary tale, perhaps, the kind that parents tell their children in order to keep them safe: _Red Riding Hood_ and _Hansel and Gretel_ and the like. It was a new story, though, about an innocent girl named Celia.

Celia traveled a dangerous landscape, though unlike her classic children's-tale counterparts, it wasn't a aged forest; it was the halls of a high school, a modern jungle of natural, unnatural, and supernatural selection. The dark boy was charming but marked with experience, and Celia found herself hypnotized by him. He sung sweetly, first to the crowd, then to Celia alone, then again, then again. He was charming and confident, and Celia allowed him to take anything he wanted from her. On the night he took her at the old man's house, she thought she felt the ownership of her soul slip, and her name became forgotten. When the dark boy asked of her to feign intimate relations with the teacher, she did so without question, and her soul darkened. When the boy began to ignore her, she pleaded for his attention. When the boy humiliated her with the other residents of the jungle, she became erased.

The calendar showed that one month had passed between the slow elimination of Celia and the birth of Karyn: one month from the end of the children's tale to the earliest of Karyn's memories. Karyn was born out of darkness into a world of near-darkness. She was born into an eighteen-year-old body on her first night of life. Her only memories were those of the girl named Celia which became clouded and vague at the end. The fading scars on Karyn's arms and legs were the hazy recollections of Celia's last will and testament, written in soft, warm, soiled flesh and with a straight-razor, the pain she could control, the pain that made the world go dark. And then it smelled of chemicals and sanitary white walls, and talking, and words, and words, and more words. And when the body awoke, Celia no longer owned it; it belonged fully to Karyn. She'd traded Celia's baby-fat for the sinew of bone and muscle. She remained fully animal though only partially human. She was fully aware.

Karyn remembered waking in the room she now inhabited. Its walls were decorated with the images of boy bands and teenaged actors. These things belonged to Celia. Karyn pulled them from the walls and lovingly, respectfully placed them in a box, resigning them to a place in a far corner of her closet. The memory of Celia lived within Karyn; and although Celia had been replaced, Karyn loved Celia as a sister.

Karyn gazed one last time at the photo of Celia; then she looked deep into her own reflection, a beautiful shadow of Celia; then she addressed the other photo. It was a photo of two boys: one dark, one fair. The dark boy was the cause of Celia's pain and dying; the fair one was the dark boy's affection. The fair one dressed in a smart, angular suit; he had soft-looking chestnut-brown hair, styled high, and masculine features with a breath of delicacy. Karyn would assume this fair boy's persona. She drew her attention to the newspaper she had set before her on the dresser, opened to the page with the notice showing the photo of the dark boy, smiling and posed, the advertisement for his concert two weeks and two days from this night. She would meet him. She would be his fair boy. She was Celia. She is Karyn. She could be anything she wanted to be.

The straight razor in her left hand slashed at the newspaper, freeing the concert advertisement from the remainder of the page. She slid the grainy, gray newsprint image of the smiling visage between the glass and frame of her mirror, allowing the tension to hold it there in the space previously occupied by her face. She held the blade as if ready to slash the image. She stood silent and still, studying, loving and hating with her eyes.

A knock roused Karyn from her reverie, a knock followed by an adult woman's voice, an adult woman's voice known to Karyn as 'mother'.

"Celia? Dinner's ready." The voice from beyond the door beckoned.

"Okay, mom, I'll be out in a minute," Karyn responded. It was time to become Celia again, for the duration of dinner-time, into the light for an hour or so, then back into the darkness and the needs of Karyn for the rest of the night.


	5. sex, lies, and digital video

**Warnings: references to attempted suicide, adult language, graphic descriptions of sexual encounters, depictions of abusive relationships, drug use, and rape.**

**I do not own any part of Glee nor the characters or references therein.**

**Approximate words this chapter: 5,100**

* * *

"Hey there, _Daddy_," Sebastian spoke, a mocking tease to his voice as Sandy Ryerson held open the front door to his house dressed (presumably) only in a bath robe, black socks, and black leather slippers, illuminated in sickly yellow under the glow of the single bulb of the porch lamp; it was early evening but fully dark.

"Well, _well_, come on in, Sebastian," Sandy ushered the young man into his house.

"Kinda indiscreet, answering the door in your bathrobe, there, Daddy," Sebastian observed, "but it does me no harm if you're okay with your neighbors seeing that you're entertaining young men, you proud perv."

"Oh, they know I'm a vocal coach, and they know I'm informal..."

"And they know you've earned a reputation for fucking around with guys young enough to be your kids," Sebastian cut-off and amended.

"And everybody also knows that I am beloved local celeb Blaine Anderson's own personal manager and agent," Sandy defensively retorted. "Nothing fishy going on here."

Sebastian heard Blaine chuckle merrily from his reclining position as he lounged on the couch. "Better mood tonight, Blaine?" Sebastian inquired, "Better than the last time we spoke, I take it."

"Yeah," Blaine answered. "You kinda did me a favor, cutting Hummel free. Now I don't need to concern myself with some paparazzi snagging some embarrassing photos of that sissy-boy and me and all of my little-girl fans getting their panties in a bunch, giving themselves pwedigies over the resulting heartache."

Sebastian snickered as Sandy unknotted the sash of his bathrobe revealing that he was wearing a bizarre pair of rubbery-looking shorts fitted with an opening in the crotch from which his big, doughy scrotum hung and his elephant-trunk-like, semi-rigid penis swung at half-mast as he seated himself at the side of the couch opposite from Blaine's position.

"Get some new furniture, Daddy?" Sebastian questioned as he eyed the free-standing, tubular-metal structure standing to the far-side of the living room, dangling chains supporting a soft-rubber seat at the center, appearing wholly unsettling next to the case of porcelain dolls, glass doll-eyes trained on it like an audience in waiting.

"Yes, you noticed my new sling," Sandy spoke as he filled the chamber of a handheld waterbong. "I set it up earlier today, hoping you'll be it's first occupant," Sandy directed his comment to Sebastian, eyes trained lecherously, his penis jumping a single time as he spoke as if it was an obscene exclamation point.

Sebastian smirked as he watched Sandy light the bowl, dragging with a typical gurgling sound and passing the apparatus to Blaine. "Sounds like a great plan," Sebastian observed.

Blaine visually offered to pass the bong to Sebastian, but Sebastian declined. "I want to remember this night; I want to be sober for this. I could, though, go for a drink; so if I may, _Daddy_, excuse myself to your liquor cabinet, I'll get something for myself to loosen-up and fetch drinks for the two of you as well."

_"Absolutely,"_ Sandy answered, "make yourself at home and fetch me a scotch and soda on the rocks while you're at it."

Sebastian nodded at Sandy then turned to face Blaine. "You, Blaine?"

"Double Beam, neat," the dark-haired young man spoke.

As Sebastian turned and walked to a far corner of the room where Sandy's portable bar was located, he noticed three tripods set with cameras positioned around the sling. "Get some new video equipment too?" Sebastian asked as he busied himself with the bottles and glasses, back to Sandy and Blaine.

"No, those are the same cameras I've been using for years," Sandy answered. "There's just no need to hide them any longer, right?"

"Right," Sebastian answered as he returned to the center of the room, passing a light amber-colored drink to Sandy and handing off a darker, syrupy-colored glass to Blaine. "We all know why we're here," Sebastian continued, "Cheers." He smirked and shook his head as he watched the other two raise their glasses and sip from their drinks, taking a deep gulp from his dark-cola-colored beverage.

"Interesting shorts you're wearing there, Daddy," Sebastian observed Sandy's crotchless latex trunks while Blaine let out a chuckle and playfully batted Sandy's bouncy member with his bare feet.

"Thanks," Sandy drew the word out, long and affected. "Speaking of clothes, Sebastian, I think it's time you _lose_ some of _yours_."

Sebastian smirked, sipping more of his drink as Blaine took another long hit from the bong before passing it back to Sandy. "All in good time, Daddy," Sebastian teased, giving Sandy a deadly wink as he raised his glass and took another sizable gulp, visually urging Sandy and Blaine to follow.

"The way we're knocking back these drinks, we're going to be tipsy by the time we get started," Blaine observed. "Hope that doesn't give you a case of dope-dick, Daddy."

Sandy smirked, a mincing posture. "Don't you worry about my d...ick," Sandy verbally stumbled, the words stuck in his throat. "What the?" he questioned, quietly as he stared, puzzled, at the bong.

Sebastian grinned as Blaine laughed and commented, "Too much too soon, mixing the weed together with the booze, Daddy?"

"D'uh, I'll show you," Sandy nodded, sloppy grin on his face as he groped his penis and stroked it's length for a few seconds, bringing it to full firmness. "See? Rock-hard and ready to f-f-f-uck."

Sandy shook his head, his woozy expression belying his engorged member. "I'm seriously not feeling right. Maybe I need to stand up and walk around or something."

Sebastian smirked as Sandy fought his way to his feet. It required an almost comical length of time, and he was making noises, not quite words, to fight off the taunting verbal barbs which Blaine was hurling at him. Finally, onto his feet, Sandy inhaled deeply. "That feels better." He took one step and fell forward into the coffee table at the center of the room, bottles of lube and recreational inhalants as well as two sets of handcuffs flew, airborne.

"Whoa, _fuck_," Blaine exclaimed, not knowing whether he should laugh at the older man's collapse. "Are you okay?"

Sandy rolled from the slumped position on the coffee table, plopping onto the carpeted floor, face-up on his back, erection still comically rigid though his body seemed to be boneless. "I'm okay," Sandy spoke, words slurred, loud, and urgent-sounding.

Blaine made a move to sit upright and tried rising to his feet, but the floor seemed maleable and its surface subject to change under his weight. "We should help him," Blaine spoke emphatically to Sebastian.

"You'd be wise to stay right where you are," Sebastian, smirking, warned Blaine. "You're going to be in no condition to help _anyone_. I drugged your drinks. You're going to be out in no time."

_"Sebastian! What the fuck?"_ Blaine's expression raged as he struggled to stay seated in an upright position; he felt as though he was being pushed downward by a warm, heavy weight, like a warm torrent of water was pushing him into some unknown depth.

"Did you _really_ think it was just about the _sex_, Blaine?" Sebastian's face soured though the smug grin remained. "Did you _really_ think it was about sex at _all_?"

Blaine shook his head for a minute, movements slowing, as he succumbed to a reclining position on the couch. Dazed, his vision swung from one side of the room to the other to the center and Sebastian's smug face again. Then his vision turned liquid. Then it turned black.

* * *

Dave's phone buzzed. He'd been sitting in the cab of his truck waiting, parked a half-block away in a convenience store parking lot. "Hey," Dave answered the call, hushed, quiet.

"Now's the time," Sebastian's voice squeaked through the phone, "They're out."

"I'm going to keep my truck parked here, so give me a couple of minutes because I'll be arriving on foot," Dave replied.

"Will do," Sebastian replied, and, with that, ended the call.

Sebastian was standing at the front door of Sandy's house, awaiting Dave's arrival. He made sure that the porch lamp was off; he didn't want to attract attention. He could see Dave's approach, primarily though a shifting pattern of darkness and a shadow thrown by a street lamp. He opened the door quietly. "Hey, Dave," Sebastian greeted quietly, but not quite a whisper.

"Hey," Dave's greeting was whispered and brief.

Sebastian led Dave into the living room where he saw Blaine unconscious on the couch. His attention and curiosity were drawn briefly to the sling and the cameras until Sebastian drew his focus to the computer at the desk along the wall next to the couch.

"I hope that video is on here," Sebastian explained, reaching into his pocket to produce a flash drive. "I need one which shows their faces, one that's not censored or digitally scrambled."

"Well, what am I doing here then?" Dave asked, slight nervousness in his voice. "I thought you said there was going to be two guys. Where's the old guy?"

"On the far side of the coffee table, on the floor. Other side of the room." Sebastian shook his head as he searched the contents of the computer's files and documents. "I thought it was going to be more difficult than it was. I drugged them, but I didn't count on them toking up. I wanted you around in case they woke up or something, but I don't think there's any chance of that now. Plus, I dosed 'em pretty good."

"They're gonna be alright, though,_ right_?" Dave asked, considering the gravity of a possible overdose.

Sebastian laughed as he turned to face Dave over his shoulder. "I've been getting this stuff for years. The doctors prescribed it for me when I was eleven, but I didn't like sleeping so much. I quit taking it myself, though I found some other good uses for it." Sebastian turned back to the computer, still searching its contents while Dave stepped quietly to the other part of the room.

_"Holy fuck,"_ Dave whispered the words then froze, face going pale and blood freezing.

Sebastian stepped away from the screen, curious as to what brought forth such a reaction in Dave. He approached to find Dave staring transfixed at the sight of Sandy: fleshy, ample, and still visibly aroused, prominently protruding from his fetish-wear, despite his unconscious state, neck arched back, mouth open wide, breathing loudly, nearly a snore, eyes sealed.

"We have other stuff to do," Sebastian reminded, shaking Dave out of his stunned state. "We'll check on him before we leave to make sure he doesn't, like, swallow his tongue and asphyxiate or something."

Dave shook his head and resumed focus, an expression of dazed distaste.

"I think I found it," Sebastian spoke as Dave turned his attention toward the screen. "Thing is," Sebastian spoke, "there's this folder of videos here on this computer, but it's password protected, and I can't get into it."

"Let me see," Dave spoke quietly as Sebastian moved out of the way giving Dave access to the screen and keyboard. Dave began hitting keys, windows began to appear on the screen.

"What are you doing?" Sebastian asked.

"I'm checking the operating system and the software he's using," Dave answered. "Okay, yeah, there are a bunch of password-protected folders on here." Dave turned over his shoulder, jerking his head in the direction of Blaine and Sandy. "How long do you think they'll be out?"

"Couple of hours, definitely," Sebastian answered. "Even when they come-to, they won't be much of a threat straight-away."

Dave nodded, facing the screen once again. "I'm pretty sure I'll be able to override the passwords. This computer is a relic by technology standards, and the operating system is an older one. Thing is, I'm gonna need some time with this. It might take me ten minutes, but it might take me a couple of hours."

"I have a flash drive ready as soon as I find what I'm looking for," Sebastian held the drive upward in front of his face, showing Dave.

Dave accessed the start-up screen, preparing the shut-down process. "We don't know how many files you'd need to sift through until you find the video you're looking for."

"So, why are you shutting the computer down?" Sebastian asked Dave as he observed the screen going black.

"Because, like I said, this might take some time, and we don't know how long they'll be out." Dave unplugged the power-cord from the wall outlet, then from the back of the computer tower, tossing it in Sebastian's direction. Once freed. Dave's hands hastily disconnected several other wires before he pulled the tower from its recessed position on the computer desk, gripped it in his hands, and yanked it upward, causing a tangle of wires and cables to bring the heavy, cumbersome, old-style monitor to the floor with a loud thunking sound.

"What are you _doing_?" Sebastian asked, simultaneously aghast and rapt.

"We're taking it with us," Dave said, unemotionally. "It's not like they're gonna report it missing if it has questionable videos on it." Dave wrapped his arm around the bulky, old computer tower, grimacing. "This old hardware is so big and badly balanced," Dave commented. "Let's get out of here."

Sebastian checked Sandy and Blaine a final time to reassure himself that they were both breathing steadily before stepping outside with Dave and closing the front door behind them. "They'll be okay," Sebastian voiced quietly to Dave. "We should take my car. I can get you back to your truck later."

"We should take this to your place," Dave spoke, referring to the computer. "I can grab a desktop monitor at my place if you don't have one handy. There's one in the basement which we don't use anymore, but I don't want this thing hanging around at my house."

"That's no problem," Sebastian spoke, unlocking the doors to his tiny European sports-car with his keychain remote, then helping Dave position the computer tower into the space behind the seats. "Just direct me to your place so you can grab that monitor. I'm still not too familiar with getting around this town except for the places I've needed to get to."

* * *

Sebastian and Dave rode the elevator to the floor where Sebastian was staying; the computer tower held under Dave's arm, an older flat-screen monitor and tangle of wires and cables in Sebastian's hands.

"This is, like, the nicest hotel in Lima," Dave observed. "I know that's not saying much, though. How long are you going to be staying here?"

"I'm here until Mom and Pop can find another school willing to take on their problematic son," Sebastian explained with an air of rebellious pride. "Or I should say I can be here indefinitely. I could always choose to go back to Mom or tell them that I'm sick of the state of ennui that is Lima and demand to live in some other city's swankiest digs. Of course, it's great that nobody knows where I'm staying. Consider yourself privileged."

"Please," Dave rolled his eyes, dismissive, "you'd have never left that old man's house with the video you were after, nor would you have had the balls to carry this thing outta there, and even if you did, you wouldn't have known what to do with it once you got it here. Which one of us is privileged_ really_?"

Sebastian blushed and grinned small and silent as the elevator doors slid open and Sebastian led Dave to a door at the end of the hall, slid his key-card, and opened the door, allowing them both entrance.

The room was a larger, residential-style suite with a desk, adequate electrical outlets, a king-size bed, wet bar, and double-sized bathroom. Sebastian's clothes and luggage were strewn across the floor with a few finer items hanging in the closet. Dave wasted little time observing the surroundings, instead getting to the immediate work at hand of setting up the stolen computer.

Within ten minutes, the monitor was illuminated with the main screen, and Dave was sitting in the desk chair, staring into the screen, accessing file directories, searching for specific file names and types. "Do you have a pen and paper or something I could write on?" Dave asked.

"Sure," Sebastian answered as he audibly rummaged through a bookbag and produced a spiral notebook and a pencil. "Here you are," he handed the items to Dave, "Is a pencil okay?"

"Yeah," Dave answered as he faced the screen, searching for file names among what appeared to be thousands of identical-looking items in a file folder. Sebastian observed the screen and Dave's driven intensity over Dave's shoulder as Dave quicky scribbled file-name gibberish onto a notebook page.

"Okay," Dave spoke finally, leaning back on his seat, startling Sebastian with both his voice and his sudden movement.

"Uh," Sebastian uttered and jumped as the back of Dave's shoulder made brief contact with Sebastian's chest. "What are you doing now?" Sebastian scrambled for words, taken aback, as he watched the screen go dim and black.

"I need to reboot and get into the bios," Dave commented, raising an eyebrow, Sebastian's uncharacteristically nervous movements not unnoticed.

As the computer began to restart, Dave focused on the screen and the keyboard as he repeatedly struck one of the F-keys until a screen filled with white-on-black text appeared. Dave observed and read for a moment.

"Is that supposed to happen?" Sebastian asked.

"Yeah."

"I've only ever seen that when something goes wrong with my computer," Sebastian offered, "and I haven't seen anything like that at all since my last few computers have all been the other kind."

Dave seemed to be intense in concentration. He brought to the screen another white-on-black page, this time a list of maddeningly similar coded items. Looking occasionally at the notebook, then back at the screen and highlighting items, clicking keys, appearing to remove items, Dave moved quickly. He accessed another screen, and something like a familiar desktop image appeared, though the icons appeared bloated and unrefined. Through the start menu, he accessed the documents folder. A few more clicks and he returned the computer to restart mode once again. The screen dimmed and blackened.

"What did you just do?" Sebastian asked, intrigued, uncertain.

"I think I disabled the password protection," Dave answered, "but I won't know until I reboot."

The screen flashed as the typical startup images appeared. "You really know your way around stuff like this," Sebastian commented, sounding impressed.

"Don't thank me yet," Dave smirked, an air of pride in the premature compliment, "We gotta see if it actually worked."

The familiar desktop image flashed on the screen, and the tower made a mechanical gurgling noise. Dave sat back in the chair, observing, waiting. When the scraping sounds of the tower silenced, Dave accessed the documents menu, then a previously locked folder of video files. The folder opened to reveal what appeared to be nearly one hundred video files.

"Here's a bunch of videos we couldn't access before," Dave commented over his shoulder but still facing the screen. "Any idea what the one you're looking for is called?"

"No," Sebastian answered, sounding nearly mesmerized by the result of Dave's handiwork.

"Well, then, let's just click one to see if we're at least on the right track," Dave suggested.

Dave clicked on a random item, and a video player appeared on the screen in incremental parts: first a blank white window, then the borders of the video field, then a panel of controls, and finally a black image which lightened to a softly-focused grey-brown image, then jerky camera movements coming to rest on a face. There was a cloth gag tied around the mouth, eyes wide with anxiety and, possibly, fear. There were obvious tears under the eyes, streaming down the cheeks. The person's audible breathing was heavy and labored by the gag. Dave found it difficult to watch the barely-moving image. The image zoomed out slightly, and one could see the person's shoulders and arms. It appeared that they were restrained chest-down onto a bed or mattress. From one side of the soft, poorly-lit image appeared the profile of Sandy's unmistakably large penis and smoothly-shaved scrotum.

_"Don't be scared,"_ Sandy's voice teased on the soundtrack amid the ambient hiss of room noise, "Daddy Sandy's not going to hurt you."

With that, the gagged face grimaced and more tears spilled as the penis was slapped against it several times. Dave turned away from the screen, nearly closing his eyes and facing downward. Sebastian, however, was watching the image intently, agog with an expression of interest, even awe.

"Do you think what you need is on this computer?" Dave asked, turning away from the screen toward Sebastian's face, disrupting his rapt attention. "If so, I'd kinda like you to ride me back to my truck."

"Yeah," Sebastian spoke, quietly, breathy. "Sure, no problem. Let me get my jacket."

Dave stopped the video. The room was darkened, aside form the light from the screen and a small table-lamp on an end-table at the far side of the bed. Dave sat in the chair at the desk, slightly hunched. That he was nervous and somewhat shaken by the video was not detected by Sebastian who watched and studied Dave while sliding into his jacket.

"I took you for a good kid, Dave," Sebastian commented, smirking slightly, hinting flirtation.

"What do you mean?" Dave's reply was fast and quiet, possibly betraying his unease with the situation.

"I wouldn't think that a good kid would know how to hack into password-protected files," Sebastian answered. "That took you maybe fifteen minutes. Probably closer to five."

Dave smiled nervously. "Maybe. Maybe I'm not exactly a good guy, but I'm not exactly a bad guy. Maybe a lesser evil."

Sebastian smirked wider, more certain. "You kicked ass tonight: commandeering that computer and totally owning it like a boss."

Dave smirked and laughed, bashful.

"Okay, let's get you back to your truck so you can get home."

* * *

It was nine o'clock when Sebastian left Dave at his truck, making certain that he watched Dave climb into his vehicle, start the engine, and begin to drive away. It was nine-thirty when Sebastian sat down at the computer in his hotel room, resuming to search among the multitude of video files for the particularly damning one. By ten-thirty, the hotel room was dark save for the light coming from the monitor. Sebastian had his button-down shirt opened and his pants undone, erection protruding, masturbating to the videos and images contained on Sandy's hard-drive. It was after one o'clock when Sebastian's cellphone sprang to life, sounding an incoming call. By that time, Sebastian had shot four loads and was working on his fifth. He recognized the caller with a smug grin.

"Well, hello, _Daddy_," Sebastian greeted into the phone, "what can I do for you at this late hour?"

"You stole my fucking computer," Sandy yelled back.

"Well, the way I see it, you made a video of me and you and Blaine without my consent, so, I guess I feel that there's something on your computer that doesn't quite belong to you. After exploring it for a while, I'd say there are some pretty eye-opening little gems on this computer. It may be that some of these other people might feel the same way I do. And it may be a while before I'm done with it. I hope you don't mind me hanging onto it for a while."

_"Hah-hah,"_ Sandy sassed. "I know you're lying. That stuff is all guarded under password."

"Not anymore, Daddy," Sebastian corrected. "First I saw you smacking you cock against some restrained guy's gagged face, then I saw you invade his ass with your hairless monster-cock. It reminds me of one of those weird hairless cats or something; and that was just the beginning. It's kinda cool to know that, if you get Blaine drunk enough, he swings both ways. Who was that zonked-out chick he was fucking anyway? Oh, and it's also cool to know that bigger dicks than yours _do_ exist outside the world of professional porn. Oh yeah, cool to know that you like to wear ladies' stockings when you bottom."

"You little fucking shit," Sandy sounded like he meant business, "You return my computer this instant."

"I don't think you're in any position to bargain with me, there, Sandy," Sebastian's voice was scratchy and smug. "I, however, have a list of a few demands."

Sandy audibly inhaled. "What the fuck do you want now?"

"Simmer down, old-man-with-big-dick," Sebastian's voice became more direct, "I don't recall making any demands before tonight."

After a span of silence passed, Sandy finally spoke again, though more politely this time. "Okay, Sebastian, what do you want?"

"Well, that concert that you and Blaine have coming up?" Sebastian began, "I want in."

"We can make you a temporary addition to the New Directions," Sandy answered.

"Oh, no, that won't do," Sebastian countered. "I want equal billing. Instead of the concert being billed as 'Blaine Anderson and the New Directions', I want those ads and signs to read 'Blaine Anderson and _Sebastian Smythe with_ the New Directions'."

"You'll need to be at three rehearsals next week," Sandy deadpanned, accommodating but attempting to discourage.

"That's no problem," Sebastian answered brightly. "It's not like I have anything else going on. I'm temporarily without a school, and I'm not in the Warblers any longer, so that part is covered." Sebastian paused for a moment before speaking again. "Also, we're going to have to figure out how many songs Blaine and I sing together. It's understandable that he'll get solos, of course, but I will require no less than two solo songs fewer than he gets; and I will be demanding at least two solo songs unto myself. Otherwise, Blaine and I sing in duet for the remainder of the program."

"I'll have to get back to you on that," Sandy grunted.

"No, no, no, that won't do either," Sebastian declined. "I can't wait around for you to get back to me. If you keep me waiting too long, some of those more choice videos from your computer will go live. I'll be at Monday's rehearsal. We can work out the setlist then. Also, I'll inform you of further demands as I should deem them necessary."

"Very well. See you Monday. Three o'clock. At the school." Sandy's tone was one of accepted loss.

"Expect me early," Sebastian suggested. "Until then, b-bye."

* * *

"Hello? Dave?" Kurt greeted into his phone.

"Hi, Kurt," Dave answered. "Hope it's okay that I called you like this."

"Absolutely, Dave," Kurt responded. "Saturday mornings are good times to catch me. So, to what do I owe this pleasant surprise?"

"Well, I'm going to be done with my GED work this week," Dave informed. "Remember I said that maybe I could come visit you in New York, and then you kinda said the same thing in your email? Well, I'd kinda like to do that."

Kurt smiled at the thought. "I have plenty of room, and I'd love to have you come and show you around the city."

"Is there any time that's particularly good or bad?" Dave asked. "I could really use some time away."

"Well, why don't you call me next week when I know how my upcoming week might play out," Kurt thought aloud. "Maybe as soon as next weekend?"

"I'll keep that in mind, and we'll shoot for sooner rather than later," Dave answered, sounding upbeat. "How are things going there for you? Your email sounded really optimistic."

"I'm really pleased with the job that I just lucked-into," Kurt replied. "Fashion has always been my thing, and the woman I'm working under is from Columbus, so she feels that she's found a kindred spirit in me."

"That's cool," that Dave was smiling through his answer was evident. "I'm glad that you've found something so soon."

"Oh, did you get in touch with that Sebastian?" Kurt asked, curious.

"Um, uh...yes," Dave's answer was unsure and hesitant, marked with nervousness, and this caused a momentary silence.

_"So,"_ Kurt dragged the word out, "he said that he wanted to talk to you, that you had met but weren't properly introduced."

"Uh, that's true," Dave answered. "I'd seen him at Scandals months ago, like, back in February. I tried to talk to him then, but he was really insulting. Seems like he's okay now," another self-conscious pause, "I guess."

"Believe me, I've been the target of Sebastian's insulting nature before," Kurt informed, matter-of-fact. "He seems like he's trying to grow up, though. He volunteered some information to me..."

"Yeah, he told me a little about that," Dave cut Kurt's sentence short, not wanting to be reminded of details.

More silence.

"Have you talked to him since?" Kurt asked.

"Uh, yeah, but, um, nothing really much," Dave replied.

Kurt was getting an uncomfortable intuitive sensation. "Are you two, like, friends, hanging out and stuff?"

"Um, I wouldn't say exactly, but he have met a couple of times," Dave's words conscious and evasive.

"Are you seeing him?" Kurt asked bluntly.

"No," Dave's response was quick and emphatic. "Nothing like that. I'm, like, not his type, I'm sure."

Another silence.

"Is he _your_ type?" Kurt asked, hesitant but trying to sound unaffected.

"No," Dave's voice was calm, certain. "I mean I think he's kinda attractive, but that's where it ends."

An almost unbearably long period of dead air time hung between New York and Lima before Dave said, "I don't want to hold you back from getting your day going."

"No, that's okay," Kurt spoke, "I have some laundry to do and other things around the place."

"Okay, Kurt, talk to you soon," Dave spoke. "I'll call sometime next week about coming to visit you."

"Sounds good, Dave. Bye now."

"Good bye, Kurt."


	6. Tumbling Dice

**Warnings: references to attempted suicide, adult language, graphic descriptions of sexual encounters, depictions of abusive relationships, drug use, rape, gun violence, and character death.**

**I do not own any part of Glee nor the characters or references therein.**

**Approximate words this chapter: 8,000**

* * *

"The fuck is _he_ doing here?" Blaine spat the question through an angry scowl as he approached Sebastian and Dave in the auditorium, present for the first of the week's three rehearsals in preparation for the Saturday evening concert.

Sandy, standing at the other side of the auditorium discussing technical matters with one of the stage crew, had his attention wrested from his present business by Blaine's sneering outburst. Sebastian merely smiled confidently as he jerked his head as if to point to Dave who was standing just behind him. "Dave's my security guy," Sebastian voiced quietly with conviction, "All professional performers have a security guy." Sebastian paused for a moment, an affected expression on his face as if he'd just committed a frivolous _faux pas_. "Oh, I'm sorry. I guess _you_ don't have a security guy, huh, Blaine?"

Blaine sneered red-faced disapproval in Sandy's direction; Sandy duly noted his star's demanding expression but reminded himself that Blaine was in no position to make demands of him at this time: Sebastian was holding all the cards here.

For his part, Dave felt nervous, though he wasn't sure why exactly. Maybe it was working directly with Sebastian, someone he did not fully trust; maybe it was his lack of circle-safety: he held no esteem with this particular group of people. Maybe it was the angry greeting with which Blaine met him: he certainly hadn't earned that, except by way of Sebastian's bargaining practices. Whatever the cause, Dave's unease was not showing: He kept his facial expression stony, his eyes alert, and his posture unbending in the face of the odd situation in which the moment found him.

Finally finished speaking with the stage crew, Sandy briefly addressed the remainder of the glee club, saying that he'd be back with more formal directions after he'd spoken with the show's stars (as he had recently forced himself into pluralizing the word, taking into account the addition of Sebastian) before he sashayed toward the grouping of Blaine, Sebastian, and Dave who were standing between the seating area and the stage.

"Are we going to discuss the setlist now?" Blaine spoke to all present upon Sandy's arrival but directing his embittered gaze to a smirking Sebastian alone.

"Oh, we've already discussed the setlist," Sebastian voiced and focused his aloof gaze downward at Blaine; Sandy nodded embarrassed, almost obediently, in Blaine's direction.

"You discussed the setlist _without_ me?" Blaine questioned pointedly and gritted his teeth in Sandy's direction. "You're supposed to be _representing_ me, Ryerson, how could this _happen_?"

"I-I had your best interests in mind, Blaine," Sandy covered. "I'm sure you'll agree. You and Sebastian sing a duet to open the show followed by another duet song. Then you get a solo song for the optimum third-selection. Then the glee club chorus does three songs, spotlighing Artie, Sam, and Tina, though I wouldn't exactly call them _'solos'_ or _'duets'_. Then another duet for the two of you, then Sebastian's two solo songs, then two solo songs for you, then the show closer which spotlights the two of you with the whole chorus."

Blaine's expression softened as the setlist seemed agreeable, especially in that he himself was absent when it was discussed.

Sandy then began to recite the setlist as Blaine and Sebastian stared each other down. Dave looked on, observing the two of them, cold, standing stone.

"We'll start with the opening song, the two of you backed by the New Directions singing the Jacksons' 'ABC'..."

"Fitting for a house full of pre-teens and their moms," Sebastian smirked as Blaine scowled in return.

Sandy's eyes nervously noted, interrupted, pausing before continuing. "Then the two of you singing a duet of 'Firework', Blaine's first solo song with 'Call Me Maybe' followed by Artie and Tina doing 'Someone That I Used to Know', Sam and Marley doing 'Sparks Fly', Artie and Tina doing 'I Will Possess Your Heart', then the two of you again doing that Jason Mraz song 'I'm Yours',,,"

"Isn't that a little too _gay_ for my_ image_ to have the both of us singing that?" Blaine interrupted, still scowling.

"What's wrong?" Sebastian commented, a chuckle ending his question, "A little too close to the truth for your fans to handle?"

Dave silently rolled his eyes and shook his head, remembering Blaine on two separate occasions calling him out for being gay.

Sandy stared silent dissent to Blaine before he proceeded. "Then Sebastian's solo songs, Chris Isaak's 'Wicked Game' and the Rolling Stones' 'Tumbling Dice', followed by Blaine doing 'Cough Syrup' and 'Teenage Dream', then the everyone dong a mash-up of 'We Are Young' and 'Sing' by Fun and My Chemical Romance respectively. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to briefly run through the music for Sebastian's songs with the band and the rest of the New Directions. I'll be back in a few minutes."

Sandy walked briskly away, feeling the tension between Blaine and Sebastian as Sebastian spoke, grinning crookedly, quiet.

"What's with doing songs you've already done, like, a _million_ times? Are you making 'Teenage Dream' your theme song or something?"

Blaine finally succumbed to a lighter expression. "They _know_ those songs and they _like_ them."

Sebastian prodded, "Let me guess, 'Teenage Dream' is going to be accompanied by a backing video of your face mugging for the camera."

"Yeah, and so _what_?" Blaine replied, defensive and childish. "At least the kids in the audience _know_ 'Teenage Dream'. None of them are going to know the songs _you're_ singing."

Sebastian smirked, knowing and cocky. "But their_ moms_ will know those songs. After all, it's the _moms_ who buy the concert tickets and the downloads and the CDs when they become available."

Blaine sneered and turned away.

"Besides, what do you plan to achieve by wooing the twelve-to-sixteen set?" Sebastian needled. "Pretty soon you're gonna need a girlfriend for show, just to keep your het-rep going. All of your fans will be sending her death threats via Twitter. I'm sure that'll make you feel like you hit the big time."

"Fuck _you_ Sebastian," Blaine spat with specific venom.

"Been there. Done that. Moving on." Sebastian added another chuckle to the end of his reply before turning to check on Dave's whereabouts.

Dave hadn't moved. He was a silent sentinel standing an arm's reach behind Sebastian for the duration of the exchange, the quiet war of words. Sebastian impressed him in a malign way. Blaine was simply no match for Sebastian's treachery, and it was evidenced on Blaine's face as well.

When the rehearsal began, Dave sat in the first row of seats, watching the rough run-through of the entire program. The music proceeded without a hitch, but the songs needed to be stopped occasionally to adjust the choreography. Dave didn't know much about the mechanics of performance, but even he could see that, although Blaine was an adept dancer with solid moves, he was no match next to the taller, svelter Sebastian whose lithe form was more naturalistic and sensual, rendering Blaine's performance nearly juvenile in comparison. Dave managed a smirk when it dawned upon him that this was Sebastian's plan, to completely upstage Blaine's matinee-idol persona.

During Sebastian's solo songs, Blaine watched from the side of the stage, becoming angered and insecure. "Wicked Game" plumbed a depth of emotion that made "Cough Syrup" seem like the rants of a spoiled brat in comparison, and "Tumbling Dice" provided a swaggering PG-13 sexuality that none of Blaine's selections could touch.

At the end of the rehearsal, while the glee club members were gathering their things and departing a few at a time, while Dave waited for Sebastian who was discussing musical points with the musicians, Dave overheard Blaine speaking urgently to Sandy.

"Do you think we could get, maybe, a French maid outfit for Marley to wear while I sing 'Call Me Maybe'?" Blaine quietly suggested.

Sandy's eyes widened, incredulous. _"Why?"_

"Well, because Sebastian is pretty sexy," Blaine replied. "Think maybe we should up our game?"

Sandy shook his head. "No, Blaine. Sebastian isn't going to make anyone freak out with what he's doing, but a French maid outfit would make this seem a little too burlesque for an audience of pre-teens and their moms. You'll just have to make do and deal with it."

"You ready to leave," Sebastian's voice caught Dave slightly by surprised as he returned from the stage area.

"Yeah, definitely," Dave replied, sounding certain.

"You don't mind being my chauffeur?" Sebastian asked, sounding friendly, even grateful.

"Nope," Dave replied, definitive again. "I'm your security guy. It's part of the deal, right?"

Sebastian smiled, warmer than the smirk he'd worn earlier; Dave's expression remained approachable but unmoved.

* * *

"Hello, Dave," Kurt spoke brightly into his phone. It was early evening, and Kurt had just settled in for the day. "You caught me at a good time."

"Hi, Kurt," Dave replied. "That's cool. I wanted to tell you that I'm taking my last GED exam this Wednesday. If it's still cool on your end, I'll arrange getting a flight out to New York for this coming weekend."

"Everything is good on my end," Kurt confirmed. "I've actually been planning for that. I've been getting some things done ahead of time so I can have some time to show you around town."

"Uh," Dave spoke, sounding slightly uncertain, "How long do you want me to stay for?"

"I was thinking at least a few days," Kurt replied, "I mean, really, you could spend a week here if you like."

"Wow," Dave replied, taken aback. "I was thinking a few days. A week would be great, but I don't want to impose upon you or Rachel or anything."

"Oh, be _quiet_," Kurt scolded playfully. "You would _not_ be in the way or any kind of imposition. I miss our little talks, even if we didn't actually talk much sometimes; and spending time with someone from home would be a really welcome thing for me right now."

"That sounds good, Kurt," Dave spoke, his smile somehow audible through his words. "I'm looking forward to hanging out with you too."

"I was thinking that maybe you could come to work with me on one of my short days," Kurt offered. "I mean, I know my fashion-world job might not exactly be of interest to you, but it would be a new experience."

Dave chuckled. "That sounds kinda cool, I mean, I'll be totally clueless, but it sounds at least like something totally different for me."

"I'll brainstorm on some other things to do," Kurt added. "You haven't had pizza until you've had New York pizza, the delis around here are fantastic, and after you've eaten a fresh New York bagel, every other bagel you've ever had will be, like, dog food in comparison."

"You've actually _eaten_ dog food?" Dave laughed aloud. "I mean, to make that comparison, you'd have had to, right?"

_"No,"_ Kurt scowled, the answer sounding playfully offended. "I've _never_ eaten dog food."

"Well, if you're planning a food-tour of New York for me, I will definitely have the time of my life," Dave answered. "For now, though, I need to be reviewing for my exams, but I will touch base with you on Wednesday evening, probably around the same time as now."

"Okay," Kurt's smile was uncontrolled, "Good bye for now, Dave."

"Later, Kurt"

* * *

Sebastian sat in front of the monitor in his darkened hotel room, still working his way through Sandy's collection of videos. He was, as he had been for the past few nights, leaning back in his chair, naked save for a wife-beater and socks, legs wide, gawking at the images; but this evening, he found the contents of Sandy's hard-drive inadequate. His mind was wandering, no, his mind had drifted from the images on the monitor, but it had settled on something.

Sebastian had never felt an attraction in Dave, well, not before they'd interacted beyond a failed pickup line and an awkward meeting in a coffee shop. Images lingered in Sebastian's mind: the way Dave manhandled Sandy's computer tower, wresting it from its recess in the computer desk, aggressively taking it; the way Dave lifted it like it weighed nothing; the confidence with which Dave mentally manhandled the hard-drive's password protection; the way Dave stood as a silent, stoic ally during the rehearsal earlier in the day.

A sordid image played on the computer monitor, but Sebastian no longer paid it any of his mind. He instead wondered how it would feel to be tossed around in Dave's big hands like the computer tower, manhandled in a way he'd never been before. He thought about Dave's physical size, the sensuality of the likelihood that Dave likely perspired more than any man or boy he'd ever been close to. He mused of a soft coating of body hair which he imagined decorating Dave's chest and belly, if the hairiness of Dave's forearms was any indication. He wondered what other rewards reside beneath Dave's clothing, the thrill he might feel as he felt Dave pull him close, his arousal becoming tangible between them.

Sebastian was running on instinct, autopilot. He hoisted his feet to rest on the desk, the monitor between them. He licked fingers of his left hand as he worked the shaft of his engorged penis with his right. He rubbed the moist fingers of his left hand between his buttocks, reaching deeper, penetrating himself, first one finger, then a second, then the ring-finger, forward and back until his anus gave little resistance, then he pictured Dave standing before him, waiting a moment, forming a mental picture of Dave's form, waiting like an animal to strike, then he thrust his left hand, knuckles-deep, into himself, surprising himself with the reality of the sensation, stroking long and hard with his right hand, and climaxing with a yelp as semen rhythmically splattered his chest and face, some finding its way into his mouth. As he cooled, he imagined that it was Dave's semen which had found its way into him, Dave's semen that he was tasting. He rolled it on his tongue to the roof of his mouth before he swallowed, musing that he'd been taken, marked by the larger boy.

* * *

Dave had finished his studies for the evening. He recounted the events of the day as he lay in bed, pulling the blankets close to him. He pulled one of the two pillows downward, toward his chest and unconsciously held it there, feeling it warm in his grasp. He felt secure, comfortable. Flashes of the day played out in his mind: his studies, his brief phone conversation with Kurt, the rehearsal, the sound of Kurt's voice, the strange confrontational sparring between Blaine and Sebastian, Kurt again, the rehearsal, Kurt, idle chatter with Sebastian after the rehearsal, Kurt. Dave's mind rested repeatedly on Kurt, the pillow soft and tight against his chest.

Dave mused in the darkness of his bedroom as he waited for sleep to arrive. He wondered, remembering the last time he'd seen Kurt, when Kurt's hand strayed to Dave's crotch, what might have happened if he hadn't halted Kurt's actions. Dave had never been touched like that before. He knew it was wrong at the time, but that didn't stop him from wanting to know what might have, would have, happened.

Dave reached under his blankets, sliding his hand under the waistband of his shorts and boxer-briefs to the skin beneath, imagining a time when it could be right for Kurt to make such an approach. Dave wrapped his hand around his penis and felt it becoming firm and rigid in his fingers, speculating how different Kurt's hand might feel, considering the unpredictability of another's movements, Kurt's movements, being there, daring himself to imagine further, Kurt's warm breath and moist mouth instead of his own hand, and, ultimately, touching Kurt likewise, first with his hand, then his mouth. Dave imagined himself gentle, exploring, touching, reacting. He reached further and cupped his tight, hairy scrotum, once again, imagining the soft caress of Kurt's hand in his own hand's place, running his fingers from their farther reach back up the length of his shaft.

Dave smiled unconsciously as his hand drew into a rhythmic movement around his shaft. His grip was firm but not tight. He felt himself drawing close a few times but slowed to enjoy the images and sensations playing out in his mind, finally releasing and imagining Kurt doing the same. He exhaled and sunk, soft and warm, into his mattress, pulling the pillow closer, burying his smiling face into it as he did.

* * *

Kurt had just climbed into his bed and pulled his blankets up to his neck. As the autumn nights cooled, his and Rachel's flat had a tendency to get drafty, but he was ready for the night with a thick comforter, topsheet, and soft flannel pajamas.

As he settled into a comfortable position, he found himself smiling pleasantly. He didn't feel especially tired or ready to sleep as he was thinking ahead to the coming weekend, envisioning plans and looking forward to seeing and spending time with Dave. He could see them visiting some of his favorite haunts: the basement coffeehouse of which he'd become so fond in the short amount of time he'd lived in New York City, the corner café which was just walking distance from his living space, the independent art gallery he and Rachel had discovered on their earliest afternoon strolls around the city. Of course, there were the few park areas which would make for wonderful afternoon walks this time of year if the weather permitted. He premeditated Dave, Rachel, and himself laughing while sharing one of those huge New York pizzas on the first night Dave arrived.

Then his thoughts shifted to the last time he saw Dave and the memory it left with him. It might have been an awkward meeting, but Dave said and did all of the right things. Kurt winced when he recalled the embarrassing moment in which he made an inappropriate advance upon Dave; but Kurt's mind lightened and his thoughts warmed when he recalled Dave's embrace, one which lent Kurt the strength that he needed to face his move more fearlessly. Dave's embrace was soft and detectably nervous, but the impression it left upon Kurt was endearing and perfect. Kurt's mind pressed forward, pondering Dave's embrace with the nervousness vanquished. He bunched the thickness of his comforter in his arms and thought of Dave's warm body against his. In Dave's consciously tentative touch, Kurt felt a desire awaken in him, a desire to be closer to Dave. There was something incredible and exciting about the idea of exploring this territory. There was something shy, almost secretive about Dave's persona which intensified Kurt's appetite in a way he'd never felt about Blaine. By contrast, Blaine was, upon all of Kurt's explorations, a venture without reward of any kind; but Dave had shown, by virtue of his respectful actions, that there was more to him than the merely superficial.

Kurt breathed heavily as he imagined how it might feel to kiss Dave's lips on equal terms, not as it had happened in a locker room almost two years prior but in a comfortable setting with mutual desire and consent, the reaction it might bring about in both of them. Kurt imagined the heat of Dave's touch, and he wondered at what point Dave might begin to noticeably perspire. The thoughts made Kurt mindless for a moment. He imagined reaching his hand into Dave's shirt, feeling the heat and the bare skin of his chest. _Would he be hairy?_ Kurt asked himself silently. _How would he react when I touched his nipples?_

In the swirl of Kurt's thoughts, he hadn't realized that he had unbuttoned his pajamas and was touching his own bare chest. He was, however, fully aware that he was aroused and his erection was reaching out of the flannel of his sleepwear into the soft comforter which he'd unconsciously crumpled between his bent knees. He imagined feeling Dave, similarly aroused, sliding rhythmically against his body, the sensations and feelings as much a new and welcome discovery to Dave as it would be to himself. Kurt breathed heavily as he reached into his underwear, beyond his engorged penis, fingertips lightly touching a sensitive place, starting for a brief moment with eyes closed, musing what it would be like to have someone, _Dave_, touch him in that place.

And he felt that he wanted this, that there was an intimate though unspoken trust that he could, would, without hesitation, surrender to these thoughts. The warm shock of Kurt's orgasm rippled through his body, bringing him back to this world, as he realized that he'd been stroking himself for minutes, working it out of himself.

He lay exhausted and stunned for a few moments, then toweled himself. He was warm and happy, and he thought highly of Dave, but this was, of course, a thing of fantasy. Kurt and Dave were friends, and Kurt was quietly sated in that thought.

* * *

As with the Monday rehearsal, Dave drove Sebastian back to his hotel room when the Wednesday rehearsal had ended. Dave had a long, busy day, but that the burden of his final exams was no longer a concern, he didn't feel the length of the day: he felt calm and aware, even slightly energized.

"You want to c'mon upstairs with me?" Sebastian asked, "I have something for you."

Dave shrugged, returning a blank expression. "Sure," he agreed.

The two boys rode the hotel elevator, exiting on Sebastian's floor. Sebastian slid his key-card and walked into the room as Dave followed.

"I'm through with this computer," Sebastian pointed toward the old tower. "I told Ryerson I'd return it at the rehearsal Friday, and I've got everything I want from it."

"You don't want _me_ to take it with me, do you?" Dave asked, an unpleasant expression of specific distaste.

Sebastian laughed at his own oversight. "No, geeze. I just want you to disconnect it and take your monitor, keyboard, and cables back. Sorry if that was confusing."

"Nah, it's cool," Dave knelt down and disconnected the monitor and the keyboard from the rear panel of the tower, noticing a stack of recordable DVDs beside the mousepad. He remained silent as he worked.

"We'll just take it with us Friday afternoon and give it back to Ryerson," Sebastian spoke. "I just didn't want to be fiddling with disconnecting it that day. This way, all I need to do is grab it on my way out."

"Gotcha," Dave acknowledged as he placed a tangle of cables onto the desk next to the keyboard and monitor and rose to his feet.

"Here's your shirt," Sebastian spoke as he tossed a black T-shirt marked with the word "Security", all in white, capital letters, toward Dave who caught it instinctively.

Dave smirked. "Cute. This isn't even my size."

"You can squeeze into it," Sebastian countered. "Besides, security guys are always supposed to look imposing. That too-tight shirt is gonna show off your pecs and pipes. You will be imposing as hell when you wear that on Saturday night."

_"Saturday night?"_ Dave questioned, eyes betraying surprise, brow wrinkled.

"Yeah, at the show," Sebastian answered as if it were obvious, a given.

"Oh," Dave spoke slowly. "I didn't realize that you expected me to be at the show. I thought all this was just, like, for the rehearsals and stuff."

"Um, well," Sebastian pieced his words together. "The _show_ is when I'm really going to _want_ you there. Not like I think I'm going to _need_ security, but, like, it would make me seem more important than Blaine, y'know, if I get chauffeured to the school and I have this imposing guy working security for me."

Dave hesitated, thinking for a moment. "I _guess_ I can do that. I'm going to visit Kurt this weekend, and I was going to leave for New York on Saturday, but I guess I can push it back until Sunday or maybe late Saturday night."

"Uh, I had no idea," Sebastian spoke. "If I'd have known..."

"No, no, don't worry about it," Dave cut Sebastian's sentence short, "I'll do it, no problem."

"You sure?"

"Yeah," Dave sounded dismissive. "I haven't totally firmed things up with Kurt yet anyway. I don't think a day is going to make a big difference."

Sebastian nodded; both boys were silent for a moment as Dave sat in the desk chair and Sebastian reclined on the bed.

"You like Kurt?" Sebastian finally spoke, breaking the still rather solftly.

Dave shook his head slowly as if thinking his answer before speaking. "I consider Kurt a really good friend, like, indispensable. He was the first to come forward after the suicide thing, and even before that he helped me in ways he didn't even realize. I was such a confused fucking mess, and he helped me sort my head out. He's probably the closest thing I have to a best friend right now."

Sebastian felt a pang of jealousy in that comment, but he buried it. _Of course,_ he thought, _Dave was more closely connected to Kurt despite the time he and Dave had spent together lately._

"Do you _like_ like Kurt?" Sebastian furthered.

"I thought I might have at one point, but, I don't think so, not like that. No." Dave's answer sounded certain but disappointed in his words, defeated.

"Do you think of _me_ as a friend?" Sebastian asked.

"Yeah, but you gotta admit, it's kinda weird."

Silence filled the room once again before Sebastian quietly countered, "Why _weird_?"

"I mean it's not like any friendship I've ever had," Dave offered. "It started with an apology out of nowhere for something that happened months ago. Then it turns into me getting involved in some weird situations that I'm not all that comfortable with. All things considered, though, yeah." David paused for a moment before continuing, "I think you're a friend."

"Do you think I'm attractive?"

Dave huffed loudly and paused before answering; he was visibly unnerved by the question. "Yes, I think you're cute, and you're really sexy, like when I watch you at rehearsals. Blaine looks downright dickless next to you. I mean, I know I'm not your type or anything, you made that pretty clear a while back, so I, like, have no delusions. Besides, there's not much in common. Just this kinda strange friendship."

"But you tried to hit on me at Scandals," Sebastian reminded.

"Sebastian, like, I was _really_ messed-up at the time," Dave sounded somewhat taxed by the question, but he continued nonetheless. "I was looking for _any_ way to make _some_ kinda contact with _someone_. I wanted to be accepted and befriended, but, yeah, I probably would have settled for fooling around with someone at the time if it made me feel not so alone."

Sebastian observed Dave, the hardened game-face of his security-guy mode from earlier in the day was gone, replaced by a shy, thoughtful, almost plaintive expression; and in Dave's eyes, Sebastian observed an almost frightened innocence.

"You _are_ a good-looking guy, though it might have taken me a while to see that," Sebastian remarked purposefully. "You've got a kind of amazing personality too, though a little mysterious."

"You think so?" Dave's expression perked.

Sebastian let out a fatigued breath. "Listen, I'm telling you that you're a cute guy in your own way, and you're _smart_, and you've got a cool way about you. But I'm no good for you. You're a good kid. We have no business being anything other than friends, if we should even be that."

Dave's brow creased, visibly stung by the comment. He remained silent as he rose slowly, unsurely, from his seat and gathered the monitor, keyboard, and cables in his hands. Moving slowly toward the door, Dave remarked, "I'm gonna get outta here."

"Yeah," Sebastian replied agreeably as if exhausted of words. "See you Friday for the last rehearsal?"

"Yeah, I'll meet you here like I did today," Dave spoke low and gravelly, an almost hurt tone to his voice.

* * *

Dave's phone buzzed an incoming call from Kurt. His greeting was hesitant. "Hey, Kurt."

"Dave, I just read your email with the flight information," Kurt's voice sounded somewhat urgent. "Is this _correct_? Your flight is at_ two AM_, Sunday morning?"

"Uh, yeah," Dave spoke, still slowly, "That's when it'll be?"

"Why such an unusual time?"

"Listen, if it's a problem with me getting in at, like, four in the morning, I can just hang at the airport until it's a more convenient time to get a cab out to your and Rachel's place."

"Dave, that's_ not_ what I'm getting at here," Kurt pressed, "Is that the only flight you could get?"

"Uh, no," Dave's words came slowly, but he wasn't audibly stumbling. "I gotta be around here Saturday night. I'll be hanging with Sebastian."

"Oh," Kurt's voice was quiet and deflated.

_Fuck, that didn't come out right,_ Dave thought to himself. "Uh, he's doing a _concert_, and I agreed to be his _security guy_. He says it'll make him look more _professional_. That's all that's going on."

"_What_ concert?" Kurt sounded louder, but now somewhat suspicious.

"Um, at the school."

"_What_ school?"

"McKinley"

"McKinley?" Kurt questioned, pointedly. "Just _Sebastian_?"

"Uh, no, he kinda worked something out with Blaine, and the show is him and Blaine and the glee club."

There was a span of silence, much shorter than it seemed, before Kurt reacted bluntly, "That's weird."

"Uh, I know," Dave agreed, "It is a kinda strange arrangement, but that's what's happening."

"I see."

"I'll be in touch with you tomorrow or Saturday to firm up our plans for when I get to New York early Sunday morning," Dave added, voice steadier but still detectably nervous.

"Okay," Kurt answered, not sounding entirely satisfied but agreeing nonetheless.

"Alright, um, I'll talk to you then," Dave spoke after a moment.

"Alright. Bye, Dave."

"Bye, Kurt. Talk to you soon."

"Yeah. Bye."

The call ended with a beeping tone before Dave removed the phone from his ear. He felt slightly wrong. He knew Kurt was a friend, only a friend really, but that didn't prevent him from feeling like he'd somehow hurt or betrayed Kurt within the confines of the brief exchange. Kurt's reaction reflected some level of dismay which added to this feeling.

Dave reclined on his bed, eyes staring into the ceiling of his bedroom. He was beginning to understand something about Sebastian and the way he operated and dealt with Sandy Ryerson and Blaine. The way Kurt acted the night before he left for New York, when he made that awkward advance toward Dave, played into this also. Every action, every agreement, every deal between these people, intimacies included, was a commodity, a unit of trade. Dave hadn't thought of things that way. He was still coming to grips with his place in the world, among this friends and those he trusted, and this was a dark awakening. He didn't feel that way himself: bonds of friendship and closeness and, yes, sexual relations were more (or perhaps less) than a bartering tool in Dave's mind. He believed that Kurt felt the same way despite his confused actions on the eve of his departure.

Furthermore, it explained in some way the uncomfortable talk he'd had with Sebastian the previous evening. It made sense. Dave's head wasn't wired the way Sebastian's was, and Sebastian knew that and was respectful enough of Dave to push him away. It still pained Dave on some level, but he wasn't sure why. He didn't really like Sebastian in that way; but there was some undeniable magnetism, and the idea that someone possibly wanted him on any level felt good, even if it was just for a passing moment.

* * *

A quick check of the Allen County website confirmed the Saturday night concert event at McKinley High School, billed as Blaine Anderson and Sebastian Smythe with the New Directions.

Kurt returned to his email account and reread Dave's earlier message, noting the time of Dave's flight and the airline.

Everything Kurt had ever known about Sebastian made him believe that Sebastian's actions were always suspect. Of course, Kurt could be wrong. Kurt _hoped_ he was wrong in thinking that Sebastian hadn't snared Dave into some nefarious scheme, but Kurt didn't want to take any chances.

Though Kurt's actions might have been extravagant, he never once considered that he might be overreacting, overreaching the bounds of a simple friendship between himself and Dave.

As he perused available flights to Lima for Saturday afternoon, he hoped that he might be overreacting, that this _was_ simply a school concert event; but he didn't feel that his protective feelings toward Dave were an overreaction of any kind.

* * *

"Are you gonna be ready soon?" Blaine called impatiently to Sandy who stood before his ornate powder-room mirror, giving his hair a final smoothing-over and spritzing himself with a particularly heavy, noxious-smelling cologne. "We should get on our way to the school."

"I'm giving myself a final once-over," Sandy answered, matter of fact. "We'll be early as it is."

"Well, I'm just kinda anxious, I guess," Blaine deceitfully responded. Blaine was actually relieved. Sandy's final once-over usually took him all of ten minutes, and this afforded Blaine the time to gather one final piece of apparatus which he might need for tonight's concert.

"You're not _nervous_, are you?" Sandy spoke loudly from the powder room. "You've got no reason to be nervous. Even sharing the bill with Sebastian, these school concerts are old-hat to you."

"No, not nervous," Blaine shouted from the bedroom, trying to sound as inconspicuous as possible. "I'm just always impatient to be where I need to be."

"Where _are_ you?" Sandy asked, curious, somewhat annoyed. "Are you in the _bedroom_?"

"Uh, yeah," Blaine answered nervously. "I left one of my pairs of briefs here when you fucked me after rehearsal last night."

"Well, find them and get out of there," Sandy shouted. "And must you always be so _crass_?"

"Look who's talking," Blaine retorted as he slid his arm between the mattress and box-spring of Sandy's bed, feeling for an item which he knew Sandy kept there. "You're the one who's always teasing me about my ass leaking after you fuck me. What would you rather I say? Something like 'you made love to me so sweetly that I won't shit right for days'?"

Sandy laughed, sardonic and loud, from the powder room as Blaine found that which he sought.

Blaine's hand located by touch the cold steel object hidden beneath Sandy's mattress. He slowly drew out the handgun. It was small, a twenty-two caliber pistol. Blaine really didn't know anything about guns except that he knew one when he saw one. He didn't know that such a small caliber weapon wouldn't inflict much damage, not the kind of damage he saw in movies, at least; but the image of the gun in his hand, the feeling of its dense heft despite its diminutive size, lent to him a sense of power. He stealthily tucked the gun into the inside pocket of his blazer before exiting Sandy's bedroom.

Blaine approached the threshold of the power room to see Sandy standing before the mirror, posing before himself.

"Are you finished preening like a teenage girl yet?" Blaine razzed, a new-found cockiness in his tone, no doubt lent to him by the metal object in his jacket.

"Yes, just about," Sandy answered, paying no mind to Blaine's attitude. "Let's get on the road, shall we?"

* * *

Dave was silent as he drove the tiny sports car out of the hotel parking lot and onto the road.

"You've been quiet lately," Sebastian observed.

"Not really much to talk about until something happens," Dave answered, sounding tough and indifferent. "I mean, now that rehearsals are done, and they were pretty-much all the same, and you got what you wanted from these guys, there really isn't much to discuss or directions you need to give me."

"You make it sound like I'm just using you or something," Sebastian commented after a silence.

Dave remained quiet; Sebastian took his silence as agreement to his statement. Maybe that's the way Dave saw Sebastian's attitude toward everything in life.

"I really shouldn't even comment, Dave, but sometimes you're not easy to get a grip on," Sebastian began. "You're obviously a really smart guy. I can see it when we're around other people. You almost never say anything. You just observe and absorb. Then, when you and I are just by ourselves, talking one-on-one, you open up in a way that kinda freaks me out sometimes. And it's not just things you say; it's, like, everything: facial expressions and body language. You're, like, cold and steely when you're around others, but the other night, I saw that's not really you."

"It_ is_ really me," Dave corrected, eyes never leaving the road ahead. "The other night was a fluke."

Dave sounded convincing, but Sebastian knew it was a lie, a defense mechanism. Sebastian nodded in response and said nothing further for the duration of the commute to the high school: the last thing he needed was for his words to make an enemy of his own security-guard.

The car approached the school, and Sebastian and Dave could both see a gathering of teenaged girls and their moms forming a line just outside the auditorium entrance. Dave parked the car nearby while Sebastian silently regretted not hiring a limousine for the evening.

"Leave your jacket here in the car," Sebastian instructed as Dave shut off the car's engine. "You're going to be blazing a trail for me through that mob, and your security shirt needs to be visible."

"This shirt fits me like something I outgrew five years ago," Dave commented mirthlessly.

"You look exactly like you're supposed to look, Dave," Sebastian placated. "You played football. You know how to block. Just pretend your blocking for me when you push through that mob of girls. And don't forget my gym bag."

Sebastian's attempt at humor was greeted with a silent, unbending expression on the edge of hostile.

Once inside the school, Sebastian showed Dave to his position at the right side of the stage, just behind the curtain and away from the sight of the audience. Dave passed the surprisingly heavy gym bag he'd been carrying to Sebastian.

"That wasn't too bad, pushing through that crowd," Sebastian commented.

"Nah, you're right," Dave agreed, expression softened. "It wasn't so bad. They kinda parted for us."

"Yeah, but it made me look professional as all hell to have you lead me in like that," Sebastian offered, hinting at a smile again.

"Y'know, Dave, I'm usually a pretty snarky guy, cocky at the very least," Sebastian's tone shifted.

Dave reacted silently with a hard, slightly puzzled expression.

"You've seen the way I talk with Ryerson and Blaine, always grinning and sarcastic," Sebastian furthered.

_"Yeah?"_ Dave finally spoke though his expression remained unchanged.

"Well, you notice I'm not like that with _you_, right?" Sebastian paused, searching Dave's face for a reaction. There was none. "Dave, if you think I disarmed you the other night, and that left you feeling vulnerable or something, understand that you've done the same to me. It's my nature to have an attitude around everyone, to get something out of everyone, but, y'know, I found that I can't be that way with you."

Dave's eyes widened, an exasperated expression. "You snared me into your plans to get you into some teenybopper high school concert, you dragged me to three reharsals, you got me to wear a shirt that's way too tight for me, and I'm here basically posing as window-dressing to your professional cred." Dave paused for a moment, staring at Sebastian's reddening face. "Don't pretend that you didn't get something useful out of me. Hell, probably my best friend is weirded-out that I'm taking a two AM flight to visit him in New York because I had to be here now."

Sebastian shook his head, looking downward, away from Dave's face. "Yeah, I got you to steal a computer for me too."

_"No,"_ Dave spoke with conviction. "I stole that computer of my own volition. That was my _own_ mistake. That it benefited _you_ was a consequence of _my_ action."

Sebastian shook his head, and both he and Dave looked around, becoming aware of greater activity in the auditorium as technical people, musicians, and the glee club members began to arrive.

"Okay," Sebastian's demeanor transformed, businesslike. "This is where you'll stand while I'm on the stage singing. When I leave the stage, I'll be coming in this direction, and you'll stand here in front of me, fending off any overzealous audience members."

Dave rolled his eyes at Sebastian's attempt at humor. "I'm just here for show, and I know it."

"Well, that's about it until they open the doors," Sebastian informed. "I'm gonna go wander around. I want to touch base with the guys at the soundboard. You can come with me if you like."

"Sure," Dave agreed. "Nothing more interesting to do anyway."

Sebastian and Dave approached the soundboard near the rear-center of the auditorium. There were two male students and a girl standing at the large board, making adjustments to the knobs and fader controls, testing preliminary levels. There was a fourth person, another boy, standing to the far side at a similar but smaller console. He was unoccupied at the moment.

"Hey," Sebastian greeted the four young adults. "I'm Sebastian Smythe. I'll be singing tonight."

The four young people shook his hand and greeted him as Dave observed.

"Does it really take three of you to run the soundboard?" Sebastian inquired. "I mean, it's a huge soundboard, but there won't be that many things going on."

One of the boys shook his head. "It's Mr. Ryerson and his pet student, that Anderson kid. They won't leave anything to chance, so they've got this whole thing worked out to ridiculous detail."

Sebastian stepped toward the person at the smaller console. "And just you down at this end?"

"Yeah," the young man laughed. "I'm doing the lighting and effects. My job is easy next to theirs. Once I do a quick check on the lights and the video projection, it's pretty-much a no brainer."

"It looks pretty-much like a soundboard, only a lot smaller," Sebastian observed. "What's that over there?" Sebastian pointed to a small piece of equipment, separate from the main console.

"That's where the DVD for the video projection goes," the boy answered.

"Is there a lot of video in tonight's program?" Sebastian asked. Dave overheard, and he found Sebastian's interest in the video portion of the program unsettling.

"No, just the one song," the boy answered. "Pretty late in the show, the eleventh song. One of Anderson's solo numbers."

Sebastian nodded and grinned. Dave's nervousness multiplied.

"Y'know, the show couldn't happen without you guys running the sound and lighting back here," Sebastian observed, "but you're doing a pretty thankless job."

The four teens snickered and chuckled, nodding agreement.

"What say I leave this with you? It's a token of _my_ thanks, even if no one else around here appreciates you." With that, Sebastian reached into his gym bag and placed on the floor beside them a large, plain brown-paper bag. It made a suspicious clunking sound when it settled onto the floor. "I'll be back to see you later. Enjoy."

Sebastian slowly, assuredly, walked away from the soundboard toward the stage. Dave increased his speed to catch up with him.

"What was in that bag?" Dave spoke, hushed, into Sebastian's ear.

Sebastian cocked his head, grinning, his cockiness returned. "Just a few bottles of wine."

_"Sebastian,"_ Dave exclaimed with urgency under his breath.

"I didn't say they had to drink it _now_, here _tonight_," Sebastian smirked, "but I hope they do."

* * *

Karyn regarded herself in the mirror. The illusion was complete. She was the fair boy from the picture: she wore the fashionable boy's suit, she wore her newly-colored chestnut hair teased and stiffened upward, she appeared fair and fragile and delicate.

She picked up the straight razor from the top of her vanity where she'd placed it with an almost ceremonial reverence. Celia had found it in her great-grandfather's kit of toiletries some years ago, after her grandmother's passing, when her family was sorting through the contents of her grandmother's house, preparing it for sale.

The item held some fascination for Celia, as if it were an artifact of ancient times, put to use during the first stages of Celia's metamorphosis. Celia, now Karyn, regarded the straight razor as a tool of liberation. She folded the blade into its handle, concealing it before she left the confines of her darkened bedroom, sliding like a spirit through the front door of her family's house, into the autumn chill and her destination at the school which she, as Celia, attended mere weeks ago.

* * *

It was eight o'clock. Kurt had departed the Lima airport in a car he'd rented minutes before. This was the earliest he could have arrived in Lima considering the available flights from New York. He'd put the airplane ticket as well as the ticket for the return flight and the car rental on the credit card which his father deemed only for emergency use. Kurt considered this an emergency. Maybe it was nothing, but he had his suspicions. The concert would be beginning at this exact time, Kurt thought as he merged onto the interstate.


	7. Wicked Game

**Warnings: references to attempted suicide, adult language, graphic descriptions of sexual encounters, depictions of abusive relationships, drug use, rape, gun violence, and character death.**

**I do not own any part of Glee nor the characters or references therein.**

**I do not won the songs referenced throughout.**

**Approximate words this chapter: 8,700**

* * *

Once the doors to the McKinley auditorium were opened, things began happening quickly. The concert began promptly at eight o'clock. Dave was astounded at the noise which the screaming teenaged girls and their moms were capable of making. From his vantage point at the side of the stage, the noise of the crowd nearly caused him pain at times, drowning the sound of the music and singing. That he wasn't directly facing the stage probably contributed to the effect, but he found himself bracing for the noise at the beginning and closing of every song.

Watching from the extreme side of the activity, Dave was afforded a clear-though-oblique view of the movement on the stage as well as the crowd reaction. When he saw the audience members leave their seats and charge the stage mere seconds into the first song, he thought to himself that an actual professional security force should have been hired for this event: he really didn't foresee a school concert in a high school auditorium creating this amount of hysteria. Dave also had a first-hand view of a turning-tide within the audience.

At first, Dave observed the audience reacting strong to the presence of both frontmen, Blaine and Sebastian. Halfway through the first song, though, he noticed the audience reacting more positively to Sebastian only. As Sebastian approached the edge of the stage, every hand in the front row (and several rows behind) sprung upward, reaching, desperately trying to touch the tall, slim singer. When Blaine likewise approached the edge of the stage, the reaction was markedly less enthusiastic, nearly indifferent; and things were just getting started.

Dave didn't consider himself any sort of authority on music, dance, or performance, but Sebastian's movements had impressed him over Blaine's from the start. He could now see that the audience agreed. It was obvious that Blaine could see this also as his moves became more exaggerated, even desperate, as the second song began; his facial expressions became almost grotesque in their extreme bid for the audience's attention while Sebastian merely wore a natural, and naturally winning, smile.

The third song was Blaine's first solo without Sebnastian, and, as Sebastian exited the stage toward the side at which Dave was stationed, the audience let out a dim moan of disappointment. This was not lost on Sandy Ryerson who was watching from the foot of the stage at one side, just beyond the partition which separated the visibly zealous audience members from the stage. Sandy wore an expression which was part confusion and part awe: his young star was being upstaged by Sebastian, Blaine's amateurishness cruelly revealed by the other boy's prowess and charisma.

Dave stood serious, observing, the stone-like countenance with which Sebastian had become familiar during the rehearsals.

"So," Sebastian commented to Dave, "how an I doing?"

Dave turned to Sebastian, an almost angry expression acknowledging the affected dimness in Sebastian's question. "You're _killing_ it. _You_ know what you're doing. If what you set out to do was embarrass Blaine and Ryerson in front of those fucking Blaine-worshiping school-kids, you're doing just that, and you _know_ it."

Sebastian's face shifted from questioning to his signature smug grin as he briefly addressed Dave with his eyes then turned away, affected indifference, shit-eating grin still in place. "Well, there are still a couple of nails to drive into the lid of that particular coffin-made-for-two, coming up later."

Dave's face lost its toughness, becoming almost pleading. "Just make sure you know what you're doin', _okay_?"

_"What?"_ Sebastian exclaimed before adding, "I'm just _singin'_ and _dancing_, no harm in that, _right_?"

Dave nodded uneasily as both boys turned to watch the ensuing performance.

"I got this," Sebastian spoke low and indecently confident, smirking.

Blaine's solo song ended, and he exited to the side of the stage opposite the one where Dave and Sebastian were standing. The next three songs passed without event and without Dave and Sebastian exchanging further words; the song that followed reunited Sebastian and Blaine for another duet before Sebastian's solo spot.

The first of Sebastian's solo numbers was marked by a change in tone for the concert. The song was truly woeful in a way none of the others had been. Even from his indirect vantage point, Dave could discern the words which Sebastian intoned with a convincing, affecting sadness. Dave had recognized the song during the rehearsals, but now, with the stage dark and Sebastian illuminated with a single spotlight at the center of the stage, Dave remembered where he'd heard it before. It was years ago, and he was up late at night, surfing channels, when he came upon a movie in-progress, a young man driving a convertible with the top down and a young woman in the passenger seat, sad, desperate expressions on their faces as they rode a lonely highway at night.

_The world was on fire and no one could save me but you_  
_It's strange what desire will make foolish people do_  
_I never dreamed that I'd meet somebody like you_  
_I never dreamed that I'd lose somebody like you_

Sebastian's voice was rich and deep, but it effortlessly slid into a higher register on the chorus. Dave felt goosebumps raise on his arms as Sebastian's pitch ascended and the backing vocals of the glee club sang their response, nearly a whisper.

_No, I don't want to fall in love  
(this world is only gonna break your heart)_  
_No, I don't want to fall in love  
(this world is only gonna break your heart)_  
_With you_

The audience was literally swooning. Dave was fairly certain that he saw some girls and their mothers crying actual tears. Within all of the lyric's dark remorse, thoughts, images even, of Kurt came to Dave. He wasn't sure why, but the feeling was dragging upon his mind, pulling it into some dark, defeated place.

_What a wicked game you play, to make me feel this way_  
_What a wicked thing to do, to let me dream of you_  
_What a wicked thing to say, you never felt this way_  
_What a wicked thing to do, to make me dream of you_

_No, I don't want to fall in love _  
_(this world is only gonna break your heart)_  
_No, I don't want to fall in love _  
_(this world is only gonna break your heart)_  
_Nobody loves no one_

The song ended and the applause and screams were almost deafening. He could see the attraction, the adrenaline rush, which fueled the performers' desire to be on stage.

A country-blues guitar-intro signaled the start of Sebastian's second solo song, mercifully more upbeat than his prior selection. His opening sounds backed by the full force of the New Directions voices sounded like a preacher and his gospel choir.

_Ooh-ooh, yeah_  
_(Ooooooooh)_

The lyrics of the verses weren't easily understood, all choppy delivery and sexy, affected drawl; but the song was infectiously catchy, and the two-line chorus was fairly obvious after the repeated times Dave had heard it during rehearsals. Sebastian held nothing back as he strutted, long legged and cocksure, across the stage, often stopping to reach out and interact with the audience as he sang, his arrogant swagger convincing and unchecked.

_Ba-by, I can't stay, _  
_You got to ro-o-oll me,_  
_And call me the tum-bel-in' di-ice_

The entire audience was on their feet and crowding in the aisles, each row holding people three bodies deep when built for only one, girls balancing precariously on the seats and the backs of seats to get a better view, a literal frenzy in the front-most areas, arms and hands reaching for the smiling, dancing young man, pining for a touch of his hand or the brush of his sleeve.

Dave was astounded. He was watching, dumbfounded by the reaction but happy for Sebastian just the same. In the middle of this madness, Dave heard a commotion behind him and voices speaking. He stayed behind a wall of curtain, not turning to look, merely listening. He could identify the voices as those of Blaine and Sandy Ryerson. They didn't seem concerned with keeping their voices quiet: the music and the crowd noise were loud enough to remain undisturbed by their conversation, and they had no reason to believe that Dave was on the opposite side of the heavy, black drape.

"Do you think we could get Brittany to come out and do kinda like a sexy fake striptease, for "Teenage Dream", or maybe she could have, like, a tearaway top like that one Superbowl halftime show?" Blaine's voice sounded desperate.

"No Blaine," Sandy sounded, nearly scolding, "She'd tower over you and that would be even more ridiculous than you simply having your ass handed to you by Sebastian Smythe."

"But we gotta do _something_," Blaine's voice ascended in pitch, "_something_ to win back the audience."

"You think you're the only one getting embarrassed here?" Sandy sounded seriously angry as he spat his words harshly at Blaine. "I waste my _fucking time_ trying to make a star out of you, pampering the _fuck_ out of you, and this kid comes out of _nowhere_ and makes _you_ look like a damned amateur-hour attraction."

_"Pampering me?"_ Blaine shot back, now sounding every bit as angry as Sandy. "I was your little fuck-toy and doing all the fucking work to get you back into your cushy position; and you are riding the wave of _my_ hard work."

"Hardly working," Sandy snapped back at Blaine. "You and me are in this together. Best we can do is come out looking _professional_, so just go out there, do your customary _professional_ performance, we'll sort everything out later, and assess the damage tomorrow morning when all of the little girls who are in the audience update their blogs and Facebook statuses. Meanwhile, I'm going back out to watch the show and try and figure out how to salvage our careers after this fiasco."

Sandy stormed past Dave, ignorant of his presence on the other side of the curtain while Blaine's footsteps stomped in the opposite direction, also unwitting that their conversation had been heard. Dave returned his attention to Sebastian and the audience.

_(You've got to roll me)_  
_Yeah, keep on rollin'_  
_(You've got to roll me)_  
_Keep on rollin'_

As the backing vocals of the chorus and Sebastian's lead vocals trades off, repeating the lines again and again at the song's close, Sebastian rose his hands above his head, inviting the audience to clap along. Within seconds, it seemed like every pair of hands in the place was high in the air and clapping to the beat. Sebastian beamed a huge smile at the adoring, clapping audience.

_(You've got to roll me)_  
_Call me the tum-ble-in'_  
_(You've got to roll me)_  
_Baby, sweet as sugar_  
_(You've got to roll me)_  
_Yeah, my my baby_  
_(You've got to roll me)_

The song came to an end, and the applause was a deafening, high-pitched shriek. Sebastian stayed on the stage, shaking hands with the members of the New Directions and the musicians and waving and bowing to the ecstatic crowd before exiting toward Dave's side of the stage.

"Dude, you were _amazing_," Dave spoke as Sebastian walked behind the curtain, out of sight of the audience, facing the larger boy. "Seriously, man, you won that audience over _big-time_. You were _awesome_ out there. You proved your point. Blaine is going to be completely anticlimactic after that." Dave's expression and delivery were sincere and enthusiastic.

Sebastian looked at Dave's face with a small but surprised smile; none of Sebastian's defining arrogance and smugness were contained in it. A moment passed as the two boys faced each other before Sebastian reached out, hands twisting into Dave's too-tight security T-shirt, and pulling close, their lips meeting in a hard, intense kiss, mouths open, each one's tongue tasting the other. Strong as it was, it lasted mere moments before Sebastian backed away, eyes stunned, appearing as if he regretted his action, hands falling from Dave's chest. Dave appeared equally taken aback. Neither one had fought the action, but their eyes had fallen from each other's face, both unsure of their feelings.

Suddenly, Sebastian regained a partial smile, speaking to Dave as he walked toward the small set of steps which led to the audience-side of the auditorium. "I gotta go talk to some people. Meet me at the stage exit after the concert's over."

"Hey," Dave spoke back as they could both hear the beginning of Blaine's solo song beginning. "You're coming back, _right_? You still have more singing to do, _right_?"

Sebastian didn't speak, but his smile became more devilish as he moved beyond a curtain and down the steps.

"Hey, you're not going to do anything crazy, are you?" Dave nearly pleaded as Sebastian disappeared. "You don't need to, Sebastian. You won. You proved you're better than Blaine."

Dave followed quickly, down the steps, toward the crowd, but his eyes had difficulty adjusting to the darkness of the auditorium. When his eyes did adjust, he found the audience pushing and packed tightly toward the stage, so tightly, that he couldn't move his way through. Dave thought he saw Sebastian quite a distance away, Sebastian's thinner body enabling him to move more easily through the crowd. Though he was mobbed and surrounded by excited fans, he remained smiling and moving farther away as Dave made nearly no progress into the throng. The next time Dave turned in the direction in which he'd seen Sebastian, Sebastian had gone beyond the density of the crowd and was walking up an aisle, away from the stage. Movement to that point was futile from the place where Dave stood. He surveyed his immediate area and found the crowd to be thinner on the far side of the seats, away from the center, where the aisle was largely unencumbered by the standing crowd. As he turned back to visually locate Sebastian again, he couldn't; he had lost him in the darkness at the rear of the hall.

Dave exhaled and faced the stage. "Cough Syrup" was Blaine's showcase introspective, melancholy song, analogous to Sebastian's "Wicked Game", but neither the song nor Blaine's performance had the heft nor nuance to compete with Sebastian's earlier interpretation. Blaine was doing all he could, making his facial expression emotional, almost to a laughable extreme: Dave found it difficult to take; Blaine was trying far too hard, overextending his limited performing skills.

Dave turned again and caught a glimpse of Sebastian's figure by the soundboard and the four people who were working the sound-mixing and the lighting effects. Dave made a move to advance himself to that area, fearing Sebastian had some definitively damning scheme about to go into play; Dave hoped to preempt such a scheme, when one of the auditorium doors opened and the light drew Dave's attention.

If it had merely been the light from the corridor, Dave would have continued his advance toward the mixing board; but there was a figure, a silhouette in the doorway, a familiar form backlit by the light: a thin figure with fashionable upswept hair wearing dynamic, angular attire. _"Kurt?"_ Dave felt himself voice, question, forgetting momentarily about Sebastian's whereabouts.

* * *

"Hey," Sebastian smiled as he greeted the four students at the mixing board and lighting controller board, "Everyone having a good time tonight?"

In unison the four smiled at Sebastian in response, momentarily diverting their attention from their work.

Sebastian had to work quickly: he had the duration of Blaine's present song to accomplish this present task. "I never did get your names," Sebastian mentioned, at which each of the students announced their name and briefly shook hands with him.

"Mark."

"Kate."

"Robert."

The last person, the one at the lighting controller, spoke his name last. "Dean."

Sebastian smiled graciously at the group of them before he spoke, "I trust you're still enjoying the _refreshments_ I brought earlier?"

The four of them nodded and smirked in clandestine assent. "There's some left if you want to join us," Robert offered.

"I wish I could party with you fine folks, but I do need to get back to the stage," Sebastian politely declined. "Oh, Dean," Sebastian spoke while reaching his left hand into his jacket and producing a disc in a paper sleeve. "Blaine told me to pass this along to you. He says that the video on this disc is the one he wants shown during "Teenage Dream" tonight."

Dean reached to Sebastian and accepted the disc, sliding it out of the sleeve: a typical recordable DVD. Dean rolled his eyes as he ejected a disc from the video device and inserted the new disc given to him by Sebastian. "Anderson and Ryerson change their minds every ten fucking minutes," Dean complained, shaking his head. "I wish just for once we could have one of these shows go on without some kinda last-minute adjustment."

"Well, it's good that it's just a minor thing," Sebastian added, an appeasing expression on his face.

"Yeah," Dean agreed begrudgingly, "This is no big deal, just swapping one disc for another."

Sebastian grinned approvingly at Dean: "Great," then turning to the rest of the technicians, he added, "I gotta run back to the stage, but I'm hoping to see you after the concert." As he walked away, in the direction of the stage, he waved, furthering, "If I don't see you, have a good time and a great night, and be careful going home."

* * *

As the door closed behind the figure, the silhouette became one with the darkness, no longer defined. Dave searched the dark space of the area where he'd seen the figure enter, but his eyes were, once again, needing to adjust to the dark to discern anything visually in the murky hall. As his vision slowly adjusted to the darkness and he realized that he had lost the figure, the taller shape of Sebastian crossed his line of vision, moving down an aisle a section of seats away from him, the farthest side of the hall, toward the steps and the backstage area.

Dave turned to move, but was once again confronted by a dense crowd through which he was not effective in moving himself. Blaine's first song had ended, and the applause, though less enthusiastic than that which Sebastian's solo numbers had enjoyed, still presented an element of unruliness, the crowd's attention no longer held captive by the stage activity.

The next song began, "Teenage Dream", familiar to every teenager and the parents of every teenager, not merely because it was a ridiculously overplayed song in its popular version, but every fan of Blaine Anderson knew that he sang this song at almost every concert he performed. Despite that the crowd had been far more responsive to Sebastian's performance, Dave found himself surrounded by a crowd of girls, both teenaged and middle-aged, clapping enthusiastically to the beat while trying to crowd closer to the stage, packing themselves tightly around Dave.

While trying to be polite yet remain purposeful, Dave began to speak in increasing volume, _"Security, security coming through,"_ while lifting his chest as high as he could above the crowd. In doing so, he found the crowd more accommodating and was able to move through the people more easily. Dave looked up at the stage occasionally to see Blaine smiling for the crowd as he sang: the teenagers seemed to be warming to him: the song always won over his audience, it seemed. Giant still-frame images of Blaine's smiling face were being projected on the large white background of the stage, colored softly by pastel-hued lights which faded on-and-off to the beat of the song.

_Let's go all the way tonight, no regrets, just love_

The stage area flickered darker for a moment. Dave craned his head toward the stage as it was his main source of light as he tried to push his way through the crowd. The background video dimmed to a darker image, then back to the sunny image of Blaine posing like a cover-boy for the camera. Dave's efforts had been effective as he was mere feet from the edge of the stage and only a short distance from the ramp which led backstage. The light from the stage flickered again, but this time the background area stayed noticeably darker. That wasn't the only thing which occurred to Dave. He also noticed that the crowd had largely stopped clapping.

_We can dance until we die, you and I, we'll be young forever..._

Dave looked up toward the stage. The background projection had gone amok. Blaine's smiling face had been replaced by another image of Blaine. Though poorly lit, it was unmistakable. Blaine's face was forward, seeming to be inches from the camera, he was on all-fours and appeared to be naked, he had a ball-gag in his mouth, and the figure of Sandy Ryerson was clearly visible and clearly naked, though dimly-lit, standing behind him. In the video, Sandy's body moved rhythmically, forward into Blaine, and Blaine's face registered the shock of Sandy's intrusion as his eyes fluttered and gagged face twitched with each thrust from the older man's pelvis.

_You. Make. Me. Feel like I'm living a Teen. Age. Dream. The way you turn me on..._

At this point, mothers in the audience could be seen covering their daughter's eyes and trying to turn and lead them away from the stage area. Sandy was frozen for a moment, watching the performance from the distance of a few rows into the seating area, before he made a mad rush toward the stage, pushing through the crowd and nearly trampling people.

_I. Can't. Sleep. Let's run away, and don't ever look back, don't ever look back..._

Blaine and the rest of the performers were carrying on the performance, unaware of the image playing behind them. With the crowd beginning to loosen in the area near the stage, Dave was able to push through to the steps, climbing to the backstage area. On the stage, Blaine was now sensing the audience reaction, and he saw the expression of urgency on Sandy's face as he reached the foot of the stage, scrambling like a bug to lift himself onto the platform.

_My. Heart. Stops. When you look at me _  
_Just. One. Touch. Now baby I believe _  
_This. Is. Real. So take a chance and don't ever look back, don't ever look back..._

With that, Blaine pivoted on the stage, facing the screen, and craned his head upward. He saw the moving image of himself, ball-gagged and wincing as Sandy's flabby form banged him mercilessly from behind. Reaching the stage, Sandy flung himself toward the far side into heavy stage curtains and pulled on them, manually dragging them toward the center, trying to cover the offending projection. As Sandy pulled the large, red curtain, however, the projection continued, only tinted by the angry scarlet of the curtain onto which they were now being projected. At this point, seeing the obvious disturbance, the band and glee members had stopped playing and singing. Trapped behind the curtain, they could see the projected image in front of them, larger than life and horrid. The hall was filled with the echoing sounds of people silently trying to work their ways toward the exit doors. There was obvious movement in the sound, but it wasn't panicked. No voices were heard; their mouths seemed stunned silent.

_"Sebastian!"_ Dave called out through the backstage area, fighting his way through what seemed to be a darkened maze of curtains and two short corridors. Dave heard footsteps moving quickly, running possibly, away from his direction.

_"Shut that thing the fuck off!"_ Sandy yelled, enraged, at Dean across the still-crowded but fast-exiting auditorium. Dean, reflexes slowed by wine, fumbled frantically with the video player, finally flicking the switch to the powerstrip into which the DVD player and lighting console were plugged, ending the video but also sending a fair part of the stage area into darkness in the process.

Sandy scrambled in the dimness of the stage area, dodging musicians and backup singers as he searched the immediate vicinity for Blaine.

Dave remembered Sebastian's instructions to meet him at the stage entrance when the show was over. There was no question in Dave's mind that this show was, indeed, over; and the sooner Dave could regroup himself with Sebastian and get out of that building and onto the road, the better Dave would ultimately feel. The footsteps Dave had heard were headed in the direction of the stage entrance, but they'd stopped. Dave rounded the corner to hear the footsteps again, moving quickly away from him. As he followed the sound toward the stage exit, he found in his path a discarded navy-blue gym bag embellished with a fancy letter D embroidered in red. Beneath the red signet were the letters B, J, and A. Though the light was dim, Dave was able to see these details as he stepped over the bag to the door which led from the backstage area into the corridor beyond.

The short corridor bent turned sharply to the left in an angle, joining another short corridor which led to the double-glass doors of the stage entrance. The hallways were dimly-lit, and Dave could hear voices and footsteps as he approached the angle in the hallway.

* * *

"Sebastian," Blaine's voice called out toward the taller boy who stood near the double-glass doors of the stage entrance. The short hallway was vacant otherwise. "Why the fuck did you do that to me, you motherfucker?" Blaine's delivery was full of rage.

"Guess that makes you a _fatherfucker_, huh?" Sebastian smiled and laughed, shrugging through his answer, holding his hands up, flopping on either side. "Maybe I wouldn't have if you and Ryerson weren't such dishonest dickheads with me, and maybe it's better anyway that an auditorium full of girls and their mothers who blindly worshiped you as some-kinda teen-angel now have half an idea of what you're really all about."

* * *

Dave could hear the voices, but he couldn't make out the words. He thought the more distant voice sounded like Sebastian, the closer voice sounding like Blaine; but the vacant, reverberating corridor distorted the words beyond distinction.

The following noise was a loud crack, so loud that it reverberated through the halls, requiring several seconds for the slapback of the sound to decay. _Damn, that sounded like a gunshot_, Dave thought. Everything seemed silent for a moment, then the auditorium next door came to life with the muffled sounds of women's and girls' voices screaming and what sounded like a stampede moving, presumably, for toward the exit doors.

* * *

Sandy heard the gunshot. It shook him from his frantic search to locate Blaine, realizing that, some delirious housewife excepted, the shot must have originated somewhere between Blaine and Sebastian: they were the only people in the school with the animosity required for killing the other within themselves. Well, they were the only people with the capacity for killing of which Ryerson was aware. The sound seemed to originate from the halls somewhere outside of the auditorium. The quietly exiting audience shrieked collectively upon hearing the shot, becoming hysterical. Jamming the exit doors of the hall. Ryerson moved quickly to the side door of the auditorium, toward what he perceived to be the place of the gunshot's origin.

* * *

David turned the corner, first running, then slowing to a stealthy creep upon seeing what the short corridor held.

"You fucking shot me, you dickhead," Sebastian yelled, hoarse and high-pitched from the far end of the corridor near the glass exit-door, his right hand clutching his left upper-arm near his shoulder.

"Yeah, I'll fucking shoot you again you asshole," Blaine threatened, sounding like a spoiled brat on a rampage, his right arm extended toward Sebastian, the compact gun clutched in his right hand.

Before Blaine could make good on his threat, he felt the force of Dave against him. Dave gripped Blaine's right wrist with his right hand; with his left Dave had twisted Blaine's left arm behind his back and upward. Blaine let out a whimper of pain before Dave pushed him into a wall between two sections of lockers, holding him tightly against the brick.

_"Drop the fucking gun, Blaine,"_ Dave spoke, quietly but demanding, through gritted teeth.

Blaine felt the cold of the wall against his face. He couldn't move as his left arm was in pain, twisted behind him, and his strength, no likely match for Dave's under the best of circumstances, couldn't afford him the leverage when pinned against the wall. Blaine would not, however, willingly release his grip on the pistol.

"Let it _go_," Dave demanded again, louder this time, as he used his right hand to repeatedly pound Blaine's pistol-gripping hand into the brick, first slowly, then increasing speed, rapidly, countless times, until Blaine whimpered and the gun fell to the floor, Blaine's hand reduced to a shapeless, bloody mess.

When the gun thunked to the floor, Dave kicked it, and it slid forward up the hall into a shadowed area of floorspace. Blaine struggled away from the wall, pulling Dave with him slightly when Dave's attention divided to kick the firearm. Freeing Blaine's right wrist, Dave sunk his right hand into Blaine's hair and slammed his head in to the metal face of a locker: once, twice, three times, a fourth. Blaine slumped and slid to the floor, not entirely motionless, but dazed and unable to stand.

Sebastian was standing but shaking when Dave approached, his hand gripping a place high on his left arm, just off his shoulder, a fair amount o f blood visible through his fingers and running down his sleeve, his flesh acquiring a pallor, his eyes stunned and frozen.

"We gotta get you to a hospital," Dave spoke, deceptively calm but with an edge of urgency, a purpose. With that, Dave reached to Sebastian's right shoulder with his right hand, turning him to face the doors and supporting him. "Do you feel like you're gonna pass out?"

Sebastian shook his head. "I don't know. It fucking hurts."

"I am sure that it does." Dave spoke, consciously keeping his voice calm as he and Sebastian made their way through both sets of glass doors and onto the walkway in front of the entrance. "I'm gonna get you to a hospital, but I want you to let go of that for a second. I want to see how bad you're bleeding."

They stood on the walkway, Sebastian's form supported by Dave's right arm. Sebastian loosened his grip and blood sprang from his wound freely like liquid from a siphon hose.

Dave suppressed a gasp, and he wanted to exclaim, _Holy shit_, but he kept quiet. "For now, hold your hand there. I gotta find a way to tie that off before I call 911. You're bleeding pretty bad."

As Sebastian reached his hand back over his wound and gripped it again, Dave turned back, looking into the set of glass doors to see that Blaine was moving but remained on the floor, still too dazed to stand; then he saw the figure of the frail boy with the stylish hair and clothing gliding, almost ghostlike, away from Blaine's struggling body toward the shadows near the glass doors.

_"Kurt?"_ Dave spoke, clearly, but quietly.

_"David!"_

Dave's head spun to see Kurt in his rental car, window down and two wheels up on the sidewalk in front of the stage entrance, twenty feet from the place where Dave and Sebastian stood. "Sebastian's been shot," Dave shouted back toward Kurt as he turned his sight again to the glass doors. The frail figure had moved to the corner of the corridor closest to the door and was bending downward toward a shadowy area of the floor, appearing to reach for something. Blaine, still struggling, but almost standing on his knees at this point, seemed unaware of the other figure's presence.

"Kurt, man," Dave beckoned from the sidewalk. "Can you get out of the car and help me? I might need another set of hands for this."

Kurt parked the car and turned the ignition off. Dave craned his head back to the doorway to see Blaine struggle to his feet, bent over, then collapse again to the floor, face down. The other figure, the frail, stylish boy, was gone.

Kurt approached Dave and Sebastian, understanding the gravity of the situation and burying his instinct to be squeamish. "What happened, Dave? I just drove like a maniac from the airport to get here. What happened to Sebastian?"

Dave knelt on the sidewalk, gently laying Sebastian on his back. Dave's mind puzzled momentarily as the memory of the silhouetted figure from inside the hall and the person he'd just seen through the glass doors confused him: Kurt was right here beside him; but he'd only just arrived, and he was dressed in a simple gray sweatshirt and jeans, not the fashionable, angular attire of the other person. Though a fair amount of Sebastian's blood had soaked into Dave's black T-shirt, his hands were still fairly clean. He reached into his pocket and produced his cell phone. "I guess this rivalry thing between Blaine and Sebastian went too far. Sebastian pushed all of Blaine's buttons, and Blaine shot him."

"Oh my god," Kurt nearly gasped, more disturbed by knowing that Blaine was capable of shooting someone than the image of the wounded boy before him.

Dave held his phone toward Kurt. "Kurt, call 911. I gotta find a way to tie off his arm so he doesn't lose too much blood."

Kurt busied himself punching numbers into the phone while Dave tore the sleeve from the shirt Sebastian was wearing and wrapped it around Sebastian's arm, just above the wounded area. As he pulled the fabric as tightly as he could and knotted it, he heard Kurt giving instructions to the dispatcher on the other side of the conversation. Sebastian let out a yelp of protest as Dave pulled the knotted fabric more tightly into a second knot.

The cars attempting to leave the parking lot became a frenzied gridlock. Though the theater entrance was largely unaffected by the volume of cars, an ambulance might have a difficult time getting to them due to the chaos of cars trying to leave the parking lot.

* * *

Blaine made it to his feet. His hazy vision was beginning to clear, and his balance was returning. He could discern the familiar forms of the exit doors before him, and he could see indistinct figures illuminated in the lights of the sidewalk area just beyond the doors. He was able to make two rather unsure-but-successful steps before he felt Sandy Ryerson grip his shoulders roughly and slam him, forehead first, into the corner of a drinking fountain before the world went black again.

* * *

Karyn stood in the shadows of the dimly-lit corridor. She watched the old man overpower the dark boy and take him. She knew where they were going. She had the metal object in her pocket, the metal machine that smelled like the shooting range on Celia's uncle's farm, the place where he taught her how to aim and fire at targets, the place where she'd make objects called clay pigeons disappear into thin air. It smelled comforting to Karyn as she departed for the old man's house, the place of Celia's memories and despair.

* * *

"Okay, Sebastian, I know that probably hurts bad, but I gotta try and slow the bleeding," Dave spoke directly into Sebastian's grimacing face. "Now you gotta let go of your arm and relax. I'll apply pressure to that wound, you just relax, but stay with me, okay."

"You look like you know what you're doing," Kurt commented quietly while watching Dave's actions.

"I was a Cub Scout," Dave answered in a tone void of emotion of any kind. "I had to learn some basic first aid stuff. I never thought I'd use it to this degree, though, and they didn't cover bullet wounds specifically." Dave turned, looking upward to face Kurt. "Kurt, what are you even doing here?"

Kurt inhaled loudly. Despite the extremity of the present situation, he remained calm, objective. "I had a kind-of intuitive feeling that things were going to go awry. It's maybe a good thing that I showed up."

Sebastian's neck went limp as if his head was a rotting flower on a wilted stem. Kurt noted the action with his eyes, drawing Dave's attention back to Sebastian.

"Sebastian, man, stay with me," Dave spoke. Sebastian's skin color was nearly blue, particularly around his mouth. "Sebastian. Talk. Who am I?"

Sebastian lazily, appearing almost drunk, opened his eyes and looked upward. His brow wrinkled as he focused, then smiled very sleepily. "Dave. You're Dave. Like, I haven't lost my mind yet or anything."

"No, haven't lost your mind," Dave answered, addressing Sebastian's eyes directly.

"Aw, Dave, let me sleep until the ambulance comes," Sebastian spoke, his words becoming muddled toward the end of his plea.

"No, no can do," Dave replied, affecting enthusiasm. "Hey, how about if you sing with me?"

"Sing with _you_, Dave?" Sebastian replied, almost playfully. "I didn't know you _sang_."

"I don't. That's why you gotta sing with me. You gotta help me. I only know the chorus of that song you sang in there tonight. You gotta sing the rest, okay?" Dave shook Sebastian's head gently with his left hand as he continued to apply pressure to the wound with his right.

"You got to ro-o-oll me..." Dave began.

"Call me the tum-ble-in' di-yice," both boys sang together, Sebastian regaining a hint of his smug performing smile before singing the song's verse by himself as Dave nodded and hummed along, trying to keep Sebastian conscious.

_People think I'm tasty but they're always tryin' to waste me and make me burn my candle right down_

"But ba-by," Dave joined Sebastian for the few words he knew, "Ba-by."

_I don't need no jewels in my crown  
__Cause all you women is low down gamblers, cheatin' like I don't know how_

"But ba-by, ba-by."

_There's fever in the funk-house now_  
_This low-down bitchin' got my poor feet a itchin', don't you know the deuce is still wild?_

"But ba-by, I can't stay, you've got to ro-o-oll me, and call me the tum-ble-in' di-yice"

Between Dave joining in on the few lines he knew, and he and Kurt both nodding to the time Sebastian was keeping with the cadence of the lyrics, Sebastian actually seemed to become more conscious. Then again, Sebastian was a seasoned performer: this is what he did.

_Always in a hurry, I never stop to worry, _  
_Don't you see the time flashin' by? _  
_Hon-ey, got no mon-ey, I'm all sixes and sevens and nines _  
_Say now baby, I'm the rank outsider, You can be my partner in crime_

Dave joined in again on the chorus: "But ba-by, I can't stay, you got to ro-o-oll me, and call me the tum-ble-in' di-yice."

"The ambulance is here," Kurt's voice broke the song's rhythm as he waved his arms, attempting to attract the driver's attention.

"What's Kurt doing here?" Sebastian asked, breathily, confused.

"He got here right after I pulled you out of the building," Dave answered.

"Oh, _shit_," Sebastian's face became serious, grave, "am I dead?"

Dave almost laughed but stopped himself. "_No_, you're not _dead_. The ambulance just got here, and they're going to take care of you. You just... you did good. You stuck with me, and now they're gonna fix you up, okay?"

Within seconds, it seemed, the emergency medical team had Sebastian up inside the vehicle as four or five police cars entered the school parking lot, two of them driving up to the ambulance.

Dave spoke, sincere concern in his voice, to the medical technician before they closed the back of the medical van. "Is he going to be okay?"

The technician was taller and heftier than Dave and wore a neatly-trimmed but full-growth of facial hair, and he spoke politely but quickly. "I don't know, but we're gonna do our best. He lost a lotta blood. He'd have lost even more if you hadn't tied his arm off like that. I assume you did that."

"Yeah, it was me," Dave answered, quickly but quietly.

The technician nodded before climbing into the cab, behind the steering wheel, and setting the ambulance in motion, lights flashing full-tilt and sirens wailing.

A police officer approached Dave and Kurt as they watched the ambulance merge onto the main roadway. "Were you two witnesses to what happened here? The dispatcher said there was a shooting."

"Um, yes sir, I saw what happened," Dave answered, respectfully. "My friend was shot by another guy, a guy named Blaine."

"Did _you_ see the shooting?" The officer directed the question at Kurt.

"No," Kurt replied, appearing almost frightened, "I just got here when my friend here was helping the, uh, _victim_ out of the building."

"I see," the officer said as he looked at both of them, eyes resting on Dave. "You'll need to come with me to the station to make a report."

Dave nodded. "I understand, sir."

"You can come along, but you'll have to wait until we're finished," the officer directed at Kurt. "You can follow us there. There's a waiting area." Kurt nodded in response, silently, inhaling.

"Can I give my dad a phone call and let him know that I'm okay?" Dave asked the officer.

"Yes, that's fine," the officer replied. "Just be quick." The officer turned to face Kurt, speaking. "You can follow along in your car. That way he'll have a ride back when we're finished."

Kurt nodded as he heard Dave's voice as he spoke to his father on his cell phone. As he finished the call, Dave looked back toward the school and noticeably shuddered.

"Dave?" Kurt asked quietly, "What is it?"

"Blaine," Dave answered. "He was out, unconscious on the floor in the hallway. He's gone now."

Kurt reached his arm around Dave's midsection to lead him toward the police car.

* * *

"You little fuck. What the _fuck_ did you think you were doing?"

The prissy, scolding tone of Sandy's voice registered clearly to Blaine before his vision returned.

"Did you _shoot_ somebody? _Sebastian_ maybe? Did you steal _my_ gun to do it?"

Blaine made a long moaning sound as blurred light began to register to his mind, his vision returning, a pounding pain in his head. He tried to rub his eyes, but he could not. He couldn't reach. His eyes burned and stung with dried, crusty tears.

"My _gun_ is missing, Blaine. Did you use it to shoot Sebastian?"

As light returned more strongly to Blaine's consciousness, he still thought himself dreaming. The light wasn't normal, and he felt very hot, almost feverish. Dots of yellow light in a red-brown world registered, clearing slowly. Then he felt the chains. They were cooler than the air temperature, but Blaine remained alarmingly warm.

Blaine's vision cleared, well enough to see, although the hazy film which covered his eyes made the room appear as though he was watching it through a star-filter, every yellow point of light registered as a small starburst.

He was in Sandy's living room. Candles and oil lamps were lit all around him. Through his misty eyes, he felt almost as if he were in a television ad for a Christmas special: all that was missing were the scents of pine and spice.

Then he slowly realized where he was specifically. He was stripped naked and fixed to Sandy Ryerson's sling: wrists bound to the chains with handcuffs and duct-taped at the ankles. Sandy stood before Blaine's spread legs, naked save for a bizarre cock ring which included a grotesquely large appendage, an attached dildo, which jutted forward and against which Sandy's half-hard penis bounced.

_"Uuuhhhhhhh"_ Blaine's voice made an unintelligent-sounding low-pitched groan. He was genuinely horrified for the first time in his life. He'd never known the strangeness of this type of fear.

"You fucked up bad," Sandy spoke in angry and measured words. "We _both_ fucked up. Where this goes after tonight, I have no idea. Sebastian could be dead for all I know. You're gonna be going to jail if that's the case. I'm pretty sure that big boy saw what happened. You go to jail, and I don't hafta tell you what kinda sweet meat you're gonna be there. You'll probably like it there so much, you're never gonna want to come out."

Blaine rolled his head on his shoulders, trying to make sense of the dull pain between his eyes and the sinking, sick sensation in his stomach.

Sandy squirted a glob of lubricant into his hand from a large-sized, pump bottle, then ran it over his stiffening penis and the fake, attached second one. "I have no idea what's going to happen to me after tonight. I might try to make a run for it. I might just wait for the police to come and collect me. I might try to make it look like I died or something. The house would go up pretty fast, what with all of these candles burning everywhere. But I know two things. You aren't going anywhere. You're my property at least for this one last night, and you're going to stay here tonight with all of my other worldly properties because, like them, you're inanimate right now." Sandy smirked, a smug grin worthy of Sebastian at his most cocky. "The other thing I know is that I'm going to fuck you until you bleed."

No sooner did the words leave Sandy's mouth than a cracking sound rang out, simultaneous to Sandy's cheek rupturing, an exit wound, spraying a film of blood over Blaine's face and chest. Sandy stood, as if still alive, for several sickening seconds before collapsing forward, bleeding onto a horrified Blaine.

Within his constraints, Blaine struggled, thrusting his pelvis upward and eventually, after a fraction of a minute which felt to Blaine like an hour, squirming sufficiently to work Sandy's bleeding and lifeless shell off his restrained body and onto the floor.

Standing before Blaine was a waifish figure with coiffed chestnut hair, fair and delicate features, and stylish attire, holding their hand at arm's length, clutching a compact twenty-two caliber pistol.

"K-k-_Kurt_?" Blaine croaked the name out of his mouth as the figure advanced closer. "Help me, Kurt," Blaine pleaded.

The figure approached closer, coming into focus, gently laying the gun down to the floor with an almost ceremonial grace next to the slumped, lifeless body of Sandy Ryerson. "You're not Kurt," Blaine whispered roughly as his vision cleared to a greater extent. The figure reached into their pocket and produced a small item, a closed, compact straight razor. The figure, once again with formality, a ceremonial reverence, unsheathed the blade from its holder, the metal catching the candlelight.

Blaine's eyes widened with hideous fear when he recognized the object. "Celia! _Nooooooo!_"

Karyn smiled, raising the blade upward and slashing downward into the left side of Blaine's face, cutting into his forehead, trailing downward into his eyelid and eye, and gashing his cheek. He struggled, trying to turn from the blade, but she quickly slashed again, this time horizontally, repeating into the left side of his face, clipping his ear and slicing deep into the side of his mouth.

Karyn withdrew her arm. Blaine panted and whimpered. Karyn slowly wiped the blade against Blaine's hairy shin, swiping it clean of blood before closing it and sliding it once again into her pocket.

Karyn moved slowly but was never still, the formal grace of a wretched pageantry, like the dramatic, deliberate movements of a silent-film actress. She approached the front door. Before exiting, she placed her hands upon an oil lamp and studied it with her eyes. She considered the flame and the lamp's contents. She slowly raised the lamp into her hands and quickly flung it against the living room's far wall. It shattered, spraying flames over the wall's surface, the carpet, and the entertainment center. A silent audience of porcelain dolls watched from a glass display case, flames dancing in their glass eyes. Blaine struggled and squirmed futilely. The smoke became dense in less than a minute. Karyn breathed the crisp autumn air as she tightly, quietly sealed the door of the Ryerson house upon departing into the night.

* * *

Kurt stood from his seat in the waiting area at the police station when he saw Dave exiting the room at the end of the hallway. Kurt's expression was expectant, questioning.

"They told me I'm free to go," Dave spoke to Kurt. "It's still pretty early. I want to go to the hospital and see if we can find out anything about how Sebastian's doing."

"Did they say that it's okay if you go to New York," Kurt questioned.

"Yeah, the said that I could go, just that they might need me to come in and answer some questions again sometime in the future, after I return. The thing is, I never actually saw Blaine shoot at Sebastian. I heard the sound of the gun going off, and I turned the corner of the hallway and saw Sebastian after having been shot and a gun in Blaine's hand, a gun they weren't able to find, by the way, but I never actually saw Blaine shoot the gun." Dave's expression became thoughtful and uncertain. "And then, after I'd told them all that, they got a phone call, and then they told me I could go."

"Okay, well, if you want to check on Sebastian, we should go to the hospital right now," Kurt reminded. "You'll definitely want to clean yourself up after that, before we go to the airport."

"It's still pretty early, not even ten-thirty," Dave reminded. "All my stuff for the trip is packed. All I need to do is stop home, shower, change clothes and grab my bags. I don't plan to be at the hospital long, but I do want to check and see if Sebastian's gonna be alright." Dave paused for a moment before asking, "So, were you able to get a ticket on the same flight I'm on?"

Kurt smiled quietly and reserved to himself, answering Dave's question, "Yes."

Dave smiled small to himself as both boys exited the doors of the police station into the cool night air.

* * *

_Referenced songs:_  
_Chris Isaak: "Wicked Game"_  
_The Rolling Stones: "Tumbling Dice"_  
_Young the Giant: "Cough Syrup"_  
_Katy Perry: "Teenage Dream"_


	8. Disappearance and Resurrection

**Author's Note: Due to some readers voicing narrative confusion concerning the previous chapter, I have made adjustments and edits to it in the hopes of clarifying the points which I believed to have caused the confusion. Please reread it if you like; I hope that the adjustments I have made serve the narrative to the readers' liking.**

**Warnings: references to attempted suicide, adult language, graphic descriptions of sexual encounters, depictions of abusive relationships, drug use, rape, gun violence, and character death.**

**I do not own any part of Glee nor the characters or references therein.**

**I do not won the songs referenced throughout.**

**Approximate words this chapter: 6,000**

* * *

"I'm here to find out about a guy who was brought here a little over an hour ago by ambulance," Dave spoke to the attendant behind the desk at the emergency room entrance; his voice was polite but marked with some element of anxiety, urgency; he spoke quickly. Though he was able to wash Sebastian's blood from his hands and, largely, from his arms, Dave was self-conscious: he could feel a film of residue on his skin; and the places where the blood had soaked into his black T-shirt, though not visible due to the shirt's color, were sticky and a reminder of sobering events earlier in the evening. He'd covered the T-shirt with the lined flannel jacket which he'd left in Sebastian's car at the school earlier in the evening, buttoning it from its base to his neck to hide as much of the T-shirt as the jacket would afford. "He had a gunshot wound. His name is Sebastian Smythe."

The middle-aged woman behind the desk looked from Dave's face to her computer monitor, then to a list on a clipboard; then shuffling through a stack of papers, she stopped on a particular page, scanning it with her eyes before lifting her gaze upward to Dave again and speaking.

"Are you a family member?"

"No," Dave answered as Kurt stood to Dave's side, an expression of understandable concern on his face. "I'm a friend," Dave furthered, "I was with him when it happened, and we were the ones who called 911 and waited for the ambulance to arrive."

"We're still trying to contact his family members," the woman stated. "We haven't heard back from them."

"Is he okay?" Dave spoke, more urgent this time. "As far as I know, his family lives elsewhere. He was living alone here in Lima."

The woman gazed again at her monitor, a serious expression on her face. "Your friend is doing alright. He was in surgery, but he's not any longer. They're waiting to place him in a room for the duration of the night."

"He's gonna be okay, then?" Dave asked excitedly but relieved, "Can I see him?"

"Unless something unforeseen develops, they are expecting him to be fine," the woman answered. "You can't see him, though, not until family members are contacted. This is standard hospital protocol."

Dave nodded, quick and polite. "I understand, but he's going to be okay?"

"He'd lost a lot of blood," the woman explained. "He'd been shot. For those reasons alone, he was listed as a critical emergency when he came in. He's stable now, but he's just post-surgery. He'll probably be in fair, or even good, condition when he wakes. Provided we get in touch with his family, he could be released as soon as Monday."

Dave nodded, more slowly this time, his expression calmed as he spoke to the attendant. "Okay. Thank you for letting me know."

Kurt followed Dave through the emergency room doors into the cool night air. Dave slowed to a halt once outside the doors, his head facing downward to the pavement. Kurt stopped short, abruptly, behind him, laying his hand softly on Dave's back.

"Are you alright, David?" Kurt asked quietly.

Dave drew a breath loudly and bent forward, his hands gripping his legs just above his knees, supporting himself as if catching his breath after a physically taxing activity. He was silent for a moment before answering.

"Yeah, I'm okay. This was the most fucked-up night. When I think about it, the last couple weeks have been completely messed-up."

"I know, David," Kurt's reply was soft, understanding as he rubbed Dave's back.

"I'm really glad you're here, Kurt."

Kurt turned his face toward Dave's, expressing a small, empathetic smile. Dave turned toward Kurt, an uncertain expression which softened upon seeing Kurt's.

Kurt nodded, understanding the wordless exchange, before speaking, quietly again. "Take your time. Catch your breath. We have almost two hours before we need to be at the airport.

Dave's breathing calmed. "After all this, I am really looking forward to going away. I was looking forward to it before, but now I feel like I really need a change of scenery, even if it is only for a week."

Kurt nodded, raising his hand to Dave's shoulder and rubbing it gently, supportive. Dave's smile became more pronounced, and Kurt's smile followed likewise.

The two stood quietly for a brief span, breathing, calming. Dave stood upright again and turned to face Kurt. Kurt looked upward with a slightly brighter expression.

"Are you feeling a little better now, Dave?"

Dave nodded.

"Are you ready to get moving?"

"Yeah, just give me another minute," Dave answered.

The two stood, quiet, relaxed; Dave was visibly calmer, more relieved than a minute before. He swivelled his head, taking in the well-lit emergency room area, noticing the ambulance entrance several yards away from them and the tall, husky, bearded emergency medical technician standing just outside the doorway there.

"Hey, that's the driver who brought Sebastian here," Dave remarked, quietly but suddenly piqued, to Kurt. "I'm gonna go over and talk to him."

Kurt smiled, patting Dave's back lightly. "Go ahead. I'll be waiting in the car for you."

Dave walked briskly, almost breaking into a jog as he approached the ambulance driver who was standing in front of the sliding doors, bathed in the light from entryway.

"Hey," Dave spoke loudly upon his approach, "Remember me?"

The man was drawing on a cigarette, smoke swirling and snaking upward under the illumination of the outdoor lights. When he heard and saw Dave, he took the cigarette from his mouth with his left hand, giving Dave an alert glance, then smiling as he recognized him from earlier in the evening.

"Yeah, of course," the man spoke, offering his right hand in greeting to Dave as he approached; the two shook hands.

"I was just here checking on my friend," Dave spoke. "They wouldn't let me see him, but they said he's gonna be okay."

"No small thanks to you, bud," the man offered.

"Huh?" Dave muttered, a slightly confused expression.

"The bullet skimmed and breached his brachial artery," The man explained, lifting his cigarette to drag again. "If you hadn't tied off his arm and kept him awake the whole time, he'd have likely bled out. You saved your friend's life."

"Wow," Dave was genuinely stunned by the words.

"I'm Derek, by the way," the man said. "Nice to meet you."

"Same. My name's Dave." Dave inhaled, a strange silence for a moment before speaking, "Well, he wouldn't have made it without you either, I'm sure."

The man chuckled, good-naturedly. "Yeah, but I save peoples' lives for a living. You're a quick thinker who actually knew how to handle the situation."

"I guess," Dave smiled crookedly, accepting the informal compliment. "Do you get many shooting victims?"

"From _that_ part of town?" the man replied, "No, but it's been a crazy night all over."

"Oh yeah?" Dave questioned.

"Well, yeah. Shooting victim at the school in a decent part of town. One of my friends, another EMT like me, got called out to a house fire a little while ago. Walked into a crazy, freakish situation."

"Oh yeah? Like what?" Dave was intrigued.

"Well, like I said, there was this house fire," Derek explained. "It must've been called in just when it happened because they got the fire under control really fast. Inside the house, though, they found a naked kid handcuffed and bound to, like, a suspension device, like, kinky sex apparatus."

Dave's facial expression went blank as Derek continued.

"The kid was still alive, but, like, the heat was so intense that the handcuffs actually burned into his wrists where he was cuffed and most of the hair on his body was singed off. He had major smoke inhalation, might be permanent damage to his throat and his lungs, and his face had been cut up. He was young, a little guy, but they didn't have any ID on the kid. He might have been, like fourteen or something, who knows?"

"Shit," Dave muttered, disturbed.

"Shit is right," Derek seconded, dragging again on his cigarette. "They found the body of a middle-aged man there also. He'd been shot through the head. The murder weapon was also found there."

"Where _was_ this?" Dave asked, tentative, hushed.

"Over on Alder Street, not far from that McKinley school, actually."

Dave shook his head, recognizing the name of the street as the one on which Ryerson lived. "That's fucked up."

"Yeah," Derek nodded, quiet agreement.

"Uh, I should get going," Dave spoke finally, sounding somewhat unsettled by the story. "Well, nice meeting you, Derek, and thanks for saving my friend's life."

Though Dave appeared distressed, Derek smiled and waved. "Nice meeting you too, Dave. And you did as much to save your friend's life as I did."

Dave nodded, mustered an uncertain smile, and gave a clumsy wave before turning and walking back to the visitor's lot.

He climbed into the passenger seat of the rental car, buckled his safely belt, and sat silent as Kurt backed the car from the parking space and drove to the exit, making a right onto the highway.

"Everything okay, Dave?" Kurt asked, innocently.

"Yeah," Dave replied slowly, trying to hide the fact that he was slightly troubled by his conversation with Derek, "Everything's cool."

"You weren't talking for long."

"Nah," Dave spoke quietly, above a mumble. "Didn't have much to say. He said that it was a crazy night. I thanked him for saving Sebastian. He said that what I did before he arrived actually saved Sebastian."

Kurt turned to Dave, a small but genuine smile on his face. "You're a hero, Dave."

This summoned a brief smile from Dave in return.

Kurt drove in silence for a moment before Dave asked, "Hey, Kurt, do you mind making a slight detour on the way back to my place?"

Kurt turned briefly toward Dave. "Sure, no problem. What's up?"

"Oh, something the ambulance driver was telling me about. A house fire on Alder Street. Just wanna kinda drive by the place and check it out." Dave tried to make his interest in the event indifferent, incidental.

"Sure," Kurt replied. "We're headed in that direction anyway. Where on Alder street is it?"

"I'm... not sure," Dave answered. "You know where that convenience store is on the corner? Just go there."

Kurt approached the intersection where the convenience store stood, illuminated but quiet.

"Okay, turn right down Alder," Dave instructed.

As they made the turn, they saw two firetrucks parked on the street in front of the house which Dave knew to be Sandy Ryerson's. The fire seemed to have been extinguished, but some of the firemen remained busy, collecting debris and gathering equipment, setting sprinklers to hydrate the smoldering structure. Despite the obvious evidence of an extinguished fire, the house appeared intact.

"I guess that's what he was telling you about," Kurt offered, sounding unmoved.

"Yeah," Dave exhaled, his mind preoccupied.

"Was the driver at this place tonight also?" Kurt asked.

"Uh, no," Dave answered. "He said that one of his friends who's also an EMT was here. They pulled a survivor out of the house, but a guy died here also."

"Oh," Kurt muttered soberly. "Doesn't really look like much damage."

"No, he said that it was called in just as the fire started, and the firemen got it under control really fast," Dave commented.

"Are we done here, Dave?"

"Yeah, yeah," Dave shook his head and returned his attention to Kurt. "Let's get me home so I can shower and change and grab my stuff and say goodbye to my dad. We have a flight to catch."

Kurt drove the car to the next intersection, past the fireman who was directing traffic around the parked firetrucks, and back on the main road in the direction of Dave's house.

"You and Sebastian are just friends, right?" Kurt asked, almost shy-sounding.

"Oh, yeah, Kurt," Dave answered loudly, a dismissive expression on his face. "I mean, I think he's an attractive guy, and he told me that he felt much the same about me, but we really aren't each other's type or anything. And, given that, it's totally immaterial, but, if I'd have ever entertained thoughts of Sebastian being anything other than a friend, after tonight, I'm convinced that he's a little too wild for me. I'll stick with my book-reading, coffee-drinking, video-game-playing friends. Maybe the occasional beer or two with, like, the three jocks who still talk to me. And I'm fine, no, I'm _great_ with all of that."

Kurt turned, smiling at Dave, and, upon seeing this, Dave returned the smile.

* * *

Karyn drifted into her house, quietly, demurely verbalizing her arrival to Celia's parents. She ascended the stairs to Celia's bedroom and understood that there was work to be done, preparations to be made. Karyn knew that such a time could arrive, that her stay in Celia's bedroom and world might come to an end, and she welcomed it warmly.

Upon closing the bedroom door, Kayrn slowly, quietly opened the doors to her closet and reached to the farthest corner of the floor, feeling for and removing the box. The box contained the artifacts of Celia's life: posters and magazine clippings of boy-bands and teen-actor-heartthrobs, soft, comforting stuffed animals, other items of ephemera, pieces of Celia's childhood which was indefinitely put on hold.

Karyn lovingly restored the posters, clippings, and portraits to their former places on the walls of the room. She decorated the barren corkboard with photos of Celia's friends and greeting cards, affixing them with frilly, decorative tacks. She returned the stuffed animals to their former homes around the room: the purple pony was Celia's favorite and always occupied a place of honor on the bed.

Kayrn removed the unisex suit she had been wearing and laid a modest nightgown with a delicate pink floral print and a lacy collar onto the bed. Celia would appreciate waking in that nightgown tomorrow morning, Karyn knew.

She stepped into the bathroom and began working on her hair, chemically restoring it to Celia's fair, light-brown color. She dutifully showered, washing, liberating herself from the poison world that brought Karyn into existence, preparing her body for the imminent return of Celia.

* * *

Though far from empty, there were many vacant seats in the airplane's cabin. Kurt and Dave had two seats in a far corner of the space to themselves: a space of four seats separated them from the nearest passenger.

"I thought certain that there'd be more people on this flight," Kurt observed.

"Well, I'm certainly not complaining," Dave replied. "It might not have been possible for you to get a seat on this flight at such short notice. Besides, it's kinda cool having this corner all to ourselves."

Kurt grinned as he audibly exhaled. "It's cozy back here. It looks like the rest of the passengers are either asleep or preoccupied."

"Yeah, everyone in their own little world," Dave remarked. "I'd imagine that this's isn't unusual for red-eye flights."

"You should be asleep yourself, Dave. You had a long, crazy day."

Dave chuckled. "I _should_ be, but I'm kinda too _tired_ to sleep. Or too _wired_. Or something. I'm glad to be spending time with you. I guess I'm excited about going to New York with a friend, probably my _best_ friend." Kurt smiled; Dave paused, thoughtful. "I'm glad to get away from the craziness of everything that happened tonight." Dave's brow creased before he added, "Hey, your day was just as long and nearly as crazy as mine was."

Kurt grinned, nodding his head slowly. "Yes, you're right. But I think I'm looking forward to having you visit for the coming week too."

Dave smiled, aiming his gaze downward into the back of the seat in front of him. Both sat in silence for a moment.

"David?"

"Yeah?"

"Will you hold my hand?"

Dave smiled at the request and lifted his right hand upward, above the armrest; Kurt did the same with his left hand, and Dave laid his hand gently atop the back of Kurt's, their hands locking softly.

"David, remember the last time we saw each other before I left for New York?"

"Yeah, definitely," Dave nodded, his voice quiet but his response certain.

"I made a really misplaced, kind-of, advance toward you physically?"

"Yeah, I remember that," Dave spoke, softer but with no noticeable sign of discomfort.

"You said that it," Kurt hesitated, "... wasn't _appropriate_ at that time, to be that way."

"Mmm-hmm," Dave nodded.

"I'm wondering," Kurt spoke, some purpose in his tone though he kept his voice hushed, "Do you think that we might someday get to a point where it would be appropriate?"

Dave smiled and blushed. "I... think it could happen. I think some other stuff has to happen before then, though."

"Like when I told you that I thought I loved you?" Kurt responded. "Like, it wasn't the appropriate time for that either."

Dave nodded, smiling, almost laughing. "Yeah, but, like last Valentine's Day, when I said that I thought I loved you, we weren't right at that time then either." Dave turned his eyes to address Kurt's. "But there _could_ be a right time for that. I don't think it would be too far away or too difficult to imagine."

"A lot has happened in a couple of weeks, Dave."

Dave nodded, once again a near laugh. "I know."

"Do you think we could be ready for it now?" Kurt asked, leading.

"I think the conditions are better now," Dave answered. "Maybe the conditions _are_ right."

"I've thought about you a lot in the past couple of weeks, David."

"I think about you a lot," Dave countered. "Well, since February, mostly as a friend. Something about you moving to New York and, I think, regaining yourself kinda made me see that you, um, _we_ can maybe be something more. Maybe that you said that I helped you make that leap, maybe that got me more comfortable with the idea that I could be someone who could help you that way. I know I've thought about being physically close to you, but, like even more than that, I'd want to be someone you could count on for support when you feel you need that."

"Dave, you've shown me how supportive you are," Kurt spoke, decisively. "And I've thought about being physical with you as well."

"Kurt, you've been a really important person to me, helping me and being someone who cared enough to know me, to _get_ to know me. Knowing that I can have some kind of place of importance with you makes me think that we can make a move to be closer. I think that I had to know that to be alright with moving forward into... _something_ with you. I think I had to know that I had something to offer. And I think I had to be sure that you weren't just doing it out of being desperate to hear somebody tell you the right things."

"You think we both needed to be sure of ourselves?"

"Yeah," Dave answered. "And I think we're there now."

Dave turned his head to face Kurt. Kurt looked upward, facing Dave. Their eyes met. Dave felt invited: there was nothing hesitant or uncertain in Kurt's face. Dave leaned closer, and their lips met, soft and slow, feeling the moment. Dave shuddered but shifted in his seat to hide it, turning to face Kurt more directly. They parted and Dave grinned, gently biting his lower lip

"That was way better than the last time I kissed you," Dave whispered.

"You can go for another," Kurt offered, "I won't push you away this time, I promise."

Dave smiled wider and their lips met again. It was quick but definitive like a punctuation to the exchange. As they parted, they both absorbed the sight of the other. There was no question that they were both incredibly happy to have met on these terms. Kurt reached upward, gently coaxing Dave's head forward, and touching his lips to Dave's forehead. Dave chuckled, nearly giggled.

"That feels so incredible," Dave spoke, just above a whisper. "I feel so, like, secure and _protected_ in that."

Dave rested his forehead on the top of Kurt's head, and they held this posture for several deep, calm breaths. Dave shifted, leaning back in his seat and moving his right arm around to Kurt's right shoulder, pulling him closer. Despite the armrest between them, this was not uncomfortable. Kurt turned slightly toward Dave, adjusting himself in his seat, and ultimately resting his head on Dave's shoulder.

* * *

Celia woke early Sunday morning. The morning sunlight was streaming into her bedroom, bouncing from windows to the white walls, filling the room with bright light. Her mind was in a state of calm clarity, a newness she couldn't recall the last time she'd felt, as if she'd been asleep for days or weeks even. She climbed out of bed and glanced into her mirror to her familiar reflection: the soft, demure pink and lace of her nightgown. She was smiling; the new day instilling an optimism.

She slipped out of her nightgown and into a soft, warm sweatshirt and a pair of jeans. She left her bedroom and descended the stairs to greet her mother who was sitting at the kitchen table, reading the morning newspaper.

"Up early today, Celia?"

"Yeah," Celia answered, a brief but warm response.

"Your father's still in bed, I haven't even started breakfast yet."

"I though maybe I'd help you make breakfast today," Celia offered.

Her mother noted the unusual gesture, but welcomed the idea. It had been over a month since Celia had shown such interest in much of anything.

The two gathered cookware and items to make breakfast. "You're in a good mood today," Celia's mother noted as the two exchanged casual smiles. "I can't remember the last time we made breakfast together."

"I feel really good today," Celia responded. "I feel like... I don't know, exactly, but I feel really _alive_ or something."

As the smells of coffee, melting butter in a frying pan, and toasting bread filled the kitchen, Celia spoke. "Y'know, I've been thinking. I think I'm ready to go back to school. I feel like I miss it. I want to go back."

Celia's mother paused for a moment, digesting and considering the idea. "Do you really think you're ready? Do you think the other kids will be trouble like the were before?"

_Just let 'em try_, Karyn's voice spoke defiantly to Celia within the confines of her mind.

"Yeah, mom," Celia addressed her mother with a small but assured smile. "I know I'm ready."

* * *

The week Dave spent in New York with Kurt and Rachel, well, mostly Kurt, was wonderful but too brief in Dave's mind. Early during the course of that week, Dave had resigned himself to the idea that he wanted to be close to Kurt. He spent some time, a couple of days, trying to pull together and plan a way to present the idea. When, on Friday afternoon, just as Kurt had finished work, Dave told Kurt as much, Dave was verbally clumsy in the proposition, but endearingly so. Kurt not only welcomed the idea, but said that he and Rachel certainly had enough space to share with another roommate.

Returning to Lima, Dave committed himself to the goal of getting into a New York college for the next fall semester. He spent a great deal of time researching colleges which would be a good fit to his likely course of study. Otherwise, life was casual for Dave. He was seeking part-time employment for the year, but he felt no great urgency on that front either.

It didn't surprise him that he found no trace of Sebastian in Lima upon his return. He'd sent several text messages and three emails to Sebastian during the week in which he was in New York: none were answered. He talked to the people at the hospital who informed Dave that Sebastian had been discharged on the Monday following the shooting and that they had no further information. Sebastian had a knack, Dave felt, for disappearing; and that's exactly what he'd done, Dave concluded.

More puzzling, though, was the complete void of information concerning the fire at Sandy Ryerson's house and the whereabouts of Blaine Anderson. Dave could assume that the person who was rescued from the fire was Blaine, and that the body found at Ryerson's house was that of Ryerson himself; but, being that the information given him by Derek was so vague, he didn't resign himself to that conclusion. The fate of Blaine Anderson wasn't something Dave was dwelling upon, but, as he found himself repeatedly facing an utter absence of information on the subject, he became more curious.

He'd checked local news websites and there was no mention of a house fire on Alder Street on that date. He checked the week-old newspapers at the public library: no stories there either. He had the badge number of the policeman who took his report on the shooting and called the police station, leaving him a voicemail. A returned call from the officer informed Dave that the case was closed and that Dave's assistance wouldn't be required further.

Furthermore, he hadn't mentioned the story told to him by Derek to Kurt. He wasn't sure how Kurt might react; and, since Dave could really only speculate about the matter, he felt that it was best left unmentioned.

It was a Wednesday morning, a little over a week after Dave returned from his trip to New York. Dave had just finished his morning jog at the park and was settling down for coffee and breakfast at the Lima Bean. He was to meet one of the friends he'd made online there, but he was early. Dave was about to open his laptop and check his email when he saw Derek, the ambulance driver from the night of the shooting, enter. Dave stood from his table and walked over to Derek who had just placed his order and was waiting at the counter.

"Hey, guy," Dave greeted, "Remember me?"

Derek turned and smiled upon seeing Dave, holding his hand out to shake Dave's. "Heck, yeah, I remember you." Derek spoke with a bright tone though his voice was rough and smoky-sounding. "You're the quick-thinking kid who saved his friend's life a few weeks back."

"Yeah, I guess that'd be me," Dave smiled with an air of pride. "Derek, right?"

"Yeah, that's right," Derek responded. "Sorry, but I don't remember your name."

Dave shrugged and smiled. "That's okay. You probably meet different people every day. You're not gonna remember everyone's name. I'm Dave."

"Cool. Cool running into you here."

"Yeah, same. Are you getting ready to go to work?"

_"Me?"_ Derek questioned. "Nah, I'm just getting off my shift. I was pulling an all-nighter. Slow night, but sometimes, especially with my job, a boring night is a welcome thing."

"Yeah, I'd imagine that's the case," Dave nodded. "Hey, you remember that thing you told me the night my friend was shot, about the house fire and the kid they saved from it?"

Derek's expression went blank. "I wasn't at any house fire that night, and I didn't save any kid."

"No, you said that one of your friends was at a house fire and they rescued a kid from it."

"There was no fire that night," Derek's expression was now completely serious. "I would remember something like that."

"You told me about it when I ran into you at the hospital," Dave said, perplexity evident in his voice. "You said that a kid survived and they found the body of an older..."

"No," Derek's voice was harder, more insistent, cutting Dave off. "Nothing like that happened. You must be confusing it with something else."

Dave cast his gaze downward as the girl behind the counter handed Derek his coffee order.

"Nice running into you, Dave. Have a good day." Derek patted Dave's shoulder briskly and smiled politely as he lifted his coffee and turned for the exit door, leaving Dave standing at the counter, somewhat stunned.

Dave sat down once again at the table in front of his laptop, taken aback by the brief exchange. Within thirty minutes, his friend Austin arrived, and the two chatted and brought each other up to speed on their lives as they hadn't seen each other since the summer. While speaking with Austin, Dave drifted from thoughts of what Derek had told him, but the questions returned to Dave's mind when he left the Lima Bean.

Dave decided to drive to Alder Street on his way home. It had been only two-and-a-half weeks since the night of the shooting. Sandy Ryerson's house was still standing that night: he knew _that_ much.

Everything appeared different in the light of day. Dave made the right turn at the convenience store and proceeded along Alder Street. He craned his head to the right side of the street as he drew near the site of Ryerson's house. The house was not there. The lot was vacant, filled with freshly-turned earth. From the street, one would think that a structure had never stood there.

Upon Dave's return home, he booted his laptop and performed a search on Blaine Anderson. There were no results. This was baffling considering that he was a local celebrity. Dave knew that he was Student Council President at McKinley, but, checking McKinley's website, he saw Sam Evans' name and photograph in that position. Dave scrolled down the roster of current students at McKinley: Blaine Anderson's name appeared in nowhere on any of the grade levels. Dave checked the last several weeks' events calendar, searching for a mention of that Saturday night concert at the school. There was no mention of it.

There was something repellent about this, Dave thought. On some level, this was maddening, and he didn't want to think about it. He wanted to remove himself from it. Lima had been home for Dave for his entire life, but suddenly it didn't feel like a home should feel. This strengthened Dave's resolve: he needed to be in New York; he needed to be with Kurt. In Kurt, Dave felt he could find a security that would hold no such surprises; in Kurt, Dave felt he could find his home.


	9. New American Gothic

**Warnings: references to attempted suicide, adult language, graphic descriptions of sexual encounters, depictions of abusive relationships, drug use, rape, gun violence, and character death.**

**I do not own any part of Glee nor the characters or references therein.**

**I do not won the songs referenced throughout.**

**Approximate words this chapter: 10,000**

* * *

**Four years and seven months after the concert.**

Dave woke early, but, then, he always woke early. His body clock was set that way. For a little over four years, he'd been living with Kurt. For three of those years they'd felt comfortable enough to refer to each other as partners, but, given their feelings, even for that first year, it was a foregone conclusion.

Dave's return to Lima after his week-long visit with Kurt after the concert experience served to settle Dave's mind on the idea that he couldn't remain in his hometown. Something had changed; something was rotten there. Seeing Kurt's and Rachel's flat in New York City, with both Kurt and Rachel so filled with ambition and drive motivated Dave. He applied to every New York school which seemed even a remote fit for his planned course of study. He worked as many as three part-time jobs to save money for his move. He and Kurt saw each other over the holidays, and this motivated Dave even further: he wanted to be physically close to Kurt. The strangeness that greeted Dave in Lima after his New York visit wasn't something he dwelled upon; on the contrary, he spent his time and energy engineering a feasible way to move to New York. When the stories crossed his mind, it was incidental, sometimes sparked by an occurrence or something he heard in passing. A chance meeting with Sam Evans at the coffee shop resulted in a polite exchange despite their sometimes rocky relations in the past. When Dave asked Sam about Blaine, Sam merely shrugged. "Blaine just disappeared. There was that concert and the weird stuff that night. Sandy Ryerson died. We didn't even know that he died until after the funeral. The Glee Club was officially broken-up the Monday after that concert, like, it wasn't permitted to even _exist_ anymore. Blaine vanished. The teachers and school administrators, if they heard anyone talking about Blaine, they'd call those people to the office and those people never spoke about it again. And the people who came to those concerts, the fans, they won't even acknowledge Blaine's existence. I guess it was just all too messed-up for them. It's like half the town forced themselves to forget about him and the other half was _forced_ to forget about him by someone else."

Dave did, in fact, find one small piece of actual evidence that one of the occurrences related to the concert actually happened: Sandy Ryerson's official obituary in the local newspapers in both their print and online form. It was backdated, not actually appearing until the Thursday after the night of the concert; and it merely stated that he had been found dead in his home, no unusual circumstances noted. Further research showed that Sandy's remains had been interred the Wednesday after the concert, a day before the obituary appeared.

There were also troubling stories filtering from McKinley High School. One or two might be discounted as gossip or urban legend, but the regularity of them was unsettling: a cheerleader with a reputation for being an absolute terror whose face was mutilated when she was slammed into a locker-room mirror by an unseen assailant; an arrogant member of the football team whose eyes were irreparably burned when his contact lens solution was replaced with a different, rather hostile, chemical (apparently a practical joke gone awry); the vandalizing of the Cheerios' trophies, complete with ransom-note-style threats which resulted in a mass defection from the cheering squad, much to Coach Sylvester's dismay. In Dave's mind, Lima's complexion was irreparably scared.

By springtime, Dave's plans to move to New York were becoming a reality. Kurt and Rachel had enough room in their living quarters to accommodate a third, and Dave promised that he wouldn't require much space. Once Dave made the move, his living space and Kurt's began to overlap: this they expected but never actually voiced. Dave was set to begin classes in the fall semester, but this was not without complication. Dave's mother, upon learning that her son was rooming with another gay male, began legal proceedings to block Dave's access to the substantial amount of money which his parents had saved for his education. Determined to move forward, Dave found himself working as many as two part-time jobs which bookended his classes. It wasn't unusual for Dave to rise before dawn for an early job, attend classes during the mid-morning and afternoon hours, and return to another job in the evening. During the first two years, Dave had been, at various times, a courier, a bicycle messenger, a packager for items to be shipped, and a delivery person of pizzas, Chinese food, and flowers. After the first two years, the living arrangement dissolved amicably: Rachel taking an apartment with her boyfriend and Kurt and Dave finding a similar though smaller flat in a more polite neighborhood. Dave's jobs kept him busy but became more manageable as he found employment within the school, temporary jobs in his projected field, and internships. His grades were consistently good enough to earn him assistance and partial grants. If the final two years of his education were less taxing than the first two, it still afforded him very little time for much else.

For his part, Kurt was employed the entire time, regularly promoted from a gofer and glorified receptionist to personal assistant, consultant, and finally staff writer with his own successful fashion blog under the umbrella name of the prestigious publication whose online presence he co-managed. During this time, Kurt, though dedicated to and fond of his job, found himself dressing more casually, making his appearance less stuffy, relegating his more preened and cultivated personas to the level of "work clothes": he simply didn't have the time or the patience to be a fashion plate seven days a week.

Typically, Dave would return home, exhausted from the day but happy to find Kurt waiting for him. It was not unusual that Kurt would have retired for the evening before Dave's arrival, but the presence of their warm bodies together was a constant and mutual manifestation of the security and sanctuary the found in each other.

Though their schedules afforded them only scarce waking time together, neither ever questioned that, nor did they question _why_ they were together. It never felt to either that they were together simply by default; on the contrary, it felt increasingly natural, increasingly faultless to both of them that they should be together.

It was a Friday morning. Dave's first Friday morning after having completed his schooling. The last five years had been a constant grind of school and jobs for Dave, but he never complained. As he planned, three weeks before his final exams, Dave had quit both of the part-time jobs he was working. He wanted a slight breather before he began studying for his exams. After his formal education was completed, he'd be tasked with finding a more permanent job; but for the final days of school and the few weeks to follow, he'd hoped to relax; he felt that he'd earned it.

The previous night had Kurt and Dave privately celebrating the completion of Dave's having earned his degree. It was very rare that they could have a quiet night together: sharing a bottle of wine, take-out food from Dave's favorite Italian restaurant, candlelight, and an early bedtime, one in which they resigned themselves to sleep long after they actually went to bed.

In addition to Dave's freedom from the structured schedules of classes and employment (for the time being, at least), Kurt had also taken a long-overdue, week-long vacation from work. The two would be spending the coming week in Lima, visiting family and possibly old friends.

Dave woke early, as he always did, as his body-clock had been trained over the past four years, as dawn was a hazy fringe of a lighter shade of night on the horizon. As their bedroom slowly filled with light, Dave craned his head upward slightly, looking down at Kurt's sleeping profile from above. The two of them were lying on their sides, Kurt's back lightly against Dave's chest, both slightly curled at the hips and knees, nested together. Dave smiled in the silence at the sight and his opportunity to enjoy it without a schedule or appointment pressing him otherwise. He knew, however, that they needed to get out of bed soon as they were driving to Lima, and it was not a short trip by car. For the moment, though, he would breathe the luxury of this time with Kurt in the perfect silence of the coming morning.

When six o'clock arrived, Dave took it upon himself to wake Kurt. He lifted his head above Kurt's, stirring slightly as he extended over Kurt's face, and lowered to kiss Kurt's cheek. Kurt reacted by scrunching his face, squeezing his eyes closed even tighter, though a smile on his mouth betrayed the warmth and humor in the moment.

"Hey, we gotta get up soon," Dave whispered in the lightening gray of the bedroom.

"Mmmm," Kurt purred as he pushed his back more closely into Dave's chest, snuggling into the familiar warmth of Dave's form. "What time is it? We don't have to get up yet, do we? This feels so good, and we don't get to do this very often."

Dave smiled. In his mind and heart, he agreed. He didn't want to get up yet either. "We can lay around for a little while. It's eleven hours by car to Lima, though. I'd rather not pull in at, like, ten o'clock at night."

The two lay silent for a moment, Kurt arriving at fuller consciousness while Dave continued to absorb the perfect closeness of their bodies.

"Are you looking forward to the trip?" Kurt finally asked, breaking the silence with whispered words.

Dave thought for a moment. "I'm looking forward to seeing my dad. I haven't seen him since the holidays, and, even at that, we didn't get to spend much time together."

"I'm looking forward to seeing my dad and Carole also," Kurt contributed.

"Yeah," Dave dragged the word out, breathy. "I think my dad's really lonely. I think about that a lot. I really wish mom hadn't left him. I really hate that she left because of me."

"David, that wasn't your fault," Kurt countered quietly but quickly, his tone shifting serious.

"I-I know," Dave answered, sounding almost like a trained response. "I know that. I know she's wrong for thinking the way she thinks, and I know it's wrong of her to think what she does about _me_, about the way I _am_, something I have no control over. But the fact remains that she left my dad _because_ of me. That's a true thing. I wish it weren't, but it is."

Dave was silent for a moment before expanding. "See, having a partner in my life, having _you_ in my life, Kurt, has made dealing with adversity so much easier. Knowing that you're there, that you're part of my life, has made the constant grind of the last four years, going to school full time and working two jobs, almost a pleasure, something I'd gladly take on with a good attitude and a smile on my face. If I lost you suddenly, it would remove all of that happiness and optimism from my life, and I can't imagine how much that would hurt. But, see, that's what happened to my dad. He lost his partner when my mom left him."

"You wasted no time moving out of that town, David," Kurt spoke softly.

"I couldn't deal with it anymore. I told you about all of the strangeness. It just didn't feel like the place I grew up in anymore. Something had _changed_ or been _revealed_ or _something_. The disappearance of, like, _everything_ related to that show. Does it weird you out or surprise you or even freak you out that Sandy Ryerson might have been _murdered_ the night of that concert? That Blaine seems to have completely _disappeared_? That the ambulance driver told me about a fire that night and then _denied_ any fire happened a couple of weeks later?"

"David, I really can't think about that stuff," Kurt spoke. "It's out-of-sight, out-of-mind. I have other things to think about. Plus, it was five years ago."

"Yeah, I know," Dave spoke, almost in a sigh. "It was a long time ago, and there's no point in thinking about it now." The pitch of Dave's voice raised as he continued. "But do you ever wonder what exactly happened to Blaine? Why no one will talk about it? I mean, you were his boyfriend for..."

"Don't remind me," Kurt cut Dave's sentence short with an annoyed tone of voice. "I left Blaine behind completely. If he was ever good for me, it's nothing I can remember in light of how everything ended."

Dave was quiet before saying, "Sounds kinda cold."

"Well, he _hurt_ me," Kurt's answer was immediate with a hint of defiance. "He messed me up in the head and, well, if it wasn't for you, what he did to my sense of trust would have messed me up for maybe the rest of my life. I think it's quite an accomplishment that I can be indifferent, that I don't hope something horrible happened to him."

Dave absorbed the statement for a moment. "You, um, say that _I_ helped restore your, um, trust in other people?"

Kurt turned his head to face Dave's eyes, speaking softly. "Yes, David. You were everything I could have wanted at the time. Us being together just feels like an extension of that feeling."

"We weren't even, like, _officially_ together," Dave recollected with a small smile. "My trip to stay with you at our old place with Rachel. We kissed on the plane, but, like, continued just as _friends_ for the rest of my stay."

"We knew where we were headed, though," Kurt countered. "You said as much before you left. It was pretty inevitable, given the way we made each other feel."

Dave smiled with greater certainty. "Since then there's never been any doubt in my mind that with you is where I want to be. And I just couldn't stay in Lima any longer, not by myself at least."

Kurt's response wasn't immediate, and it was measured, paced, when it did come. "David, you know, New York isn't exactly a bastion of honor, trust, and integrity. There's probably more messed-up stuff that goes around here than there is in Lima."

"I know," Dave's answer was quick and certain-sounding. "But, see, when I'm with you, things make sense, that's all. If you were still in Lima when I became so, um, _disillusioned_ and _confused_, I might have been able to handle it better. Plus, I never became involved in any New York mysteries first-hand."

Kurt snickered. "You were always too busy." Dave smiled as Kurt continued. "But I get all that. I've never had anything that strange happen to me in New York either, but I'm sure it does."

"Well, yeah, but you and me together aren't likely to get sucked into any crazy schemes or unexplainable happenings that feel like either grand deceptions or oncoming insanity," Dave contributed, his voice rising to a quiet conversational level.

"Speaking of, did you ever hear from Sebastian after that weekend?" Kurt asked.

Dave shook his head. "No. When the ambulance took him away, that was the last I saw or heard of him. I tried to find out how he was doing after that, but he never returned my messages. Honestly, I'm not surprised. He's kind-of a citizen of the world, and he's kinda slippery. I can't deny that we struck up a strange friendship, but his absence seems expected or something, though I _would_ like to know how he's doing after having been shot."

"Well, I watched you take care of him until the ambulance arrived," Kurt spoke. "You were fantastic. You were, like, above and beyond the call of friendship, David."

Dave smiled and nodded, humbly.

"Do you think you would ever want to move back to Ohio?" Kurt posed, answered by a startled, uncertain expression from Dave. "I mean, to be closer to your dad."

Dave shook his head and answered slowly. "Kurt, your place is here in New York, and my place is with you."

"With the way my work is, David, I work from here, our apartment, at least half of the time as it is," Kurt spoke. "I can do most of what I'm doing from any location. I might need to come to New York every couple of months, but that'd be a work-related expense. I'd like to be closer to my dad also, and we wouldn't have to actually live in Lima, you know. We could be in Akron or Cleveland. They're only a few hours away by car; or Dayton, that's just a little over an hour from Lima."

Dave's uneasy expression broke into a small smile. "I guess that's something we could think about. We'd need to get some money saved for a move like that, but I'm pretty sure I'll be able to find employment without much trouble."

"Last night was incredible, David," Kurt spoke, almost melodically, changing the subject.

"Yeah," Dave delivered the word smoothly and slowly, almost humming into it as a smile broke over his face. "It's so rare that we get to do that, and even less often that we can really take our time like that."

Kurt straightened his body and rolled himself to face Dave, addressing Dave's eyes with his and brushing his fingers lightly over the surface of Dave's chest and the light coating of body hair on it. "Now that you're done with school, though, and you'll be getting a regular job, we'll have the time for that a lot more often," Kurt reassured, sounding bright at the beginning with his tone and delivery shifting to a flirtatious purr as he finished his statement.

Dave chuckled in response. "Yeah, you're right about that, I know." Dave shrugged and his eyes dropped away from Kurt's as if caught with a bashful or embarrassing expression, grinning and blushing. "It's just that it seems like when we, uh, did that kinda stuff before, we were, like, squeezing it between our sleep schedules and sometimes not going there for, like, weeks because we couldn't get our waking hours and bedtimes in sync with each other's, and, well, last night, we could really take our time and, like, _enjoy_ it without worrying about any of that other stuff, or, like, without me worrying if I was keeping you up unnecessarily."

"Are you saying that you didn't enjoy it before last night, David?" Kurt posed with a sarcastic smirk.

"No," Dave's response was immediate and nearly frantic, even if his smile remained. "Uh, I'm just saying that maybe that's _why_, um, last night was so, um, _incredible_, I think is what you said. And, yes, I've always enjoyed it, even at first when I was really self-conscious and a little worried and definitely nervous, and I think you know all that and you're just getting your kicks watching me squirm here a little."

Kurt grinned. "You're adorable when you squirm."

_"Sadist,"_ Dave muttered accusing with a slight eye-roll and smirk before raising his hands to Kurt's shoulders and kneading gently with his fingers. "You _do_ know, though, that I got just as much out of sleeping next to you every night for the last four years. Even if you weren't awake enough to say anything or even kiss me goodnight. Just having you beside me and feeling you there and knowing you were there through the night was way enough."

"Damn it," Kurt's eyes fell and his harsh smile softened to one of sublime warmth. "You just trashed my moment of sadistic glee. You're right, though. As great as everything in the last four years was, last night was perfect. Better than the brief and almost impersonal ways we've had to conduct ourselves around each other's schedules. Almost makes me wish our first times were that perfect."

"Oh, geeze," Dave rolled his eyes. "Our first times were great and a lot of fun and everything, but I was kind-of a basket case so much of the time."

Kurt grinned in recollection. "You were nervous and so afraid that you were going to hurt me or do something wrong; and I was almost as clueless as you were, but I didn't care. I just wanted us to be that close. And as nervous and almost ridiculously careful as you were, you were really sweet, really _beautiful_. It showed how much you care about me."

Dave didn't verbalize a response; he merely smiled and blushed, his eyes quietly smiling also, facing downward away from Kurt's.

Kurt spoke again. "David, I felt that this was happening from that first flight all those years ago, the night of that messed-up concert, the two of us sitting beside each other and talking on the overnight flight to New York. I felt it before that even, but it was then, on that plane, when I felt like I really knew." Kurt lifted his hand and rested his fingers in Dave's hair, tangling them softly.

"I felt it then too," Dave agreed. "We felt right for each other at the time and it still feels that way, at least for me it does."

"It does for me too," Kurt voiced quietly as he pulled himself close to Dave, tipped Dave's head toward himself, and kissed his forehead. Dave blushed and laughed quietly in reply.

"You know," Dave began, "even after all this time, over four years living together, beside each other, being physically close, sometimes you can touch me in a way that still makes me shudder and feel all warm and giddy." Dave exhaled, red-faced, appearing almost exhausted. "You think I'd be used to it by now."

Kurt Grinned smugly. "I think that means it's real. I think it means that we're doing something right."

Dave lifted his face to Kurt's level, and their lips met, gently at first, then deepening, exploring, and finally parting. Dave sat upright, and Kurt followed. Dave placed his hands on Kurt's shoulders and rubbed them again, more vigorously this time. This raised goosebumps on Kurt's arms and a playful grin on Kurt's mouth.

"Okay, this is what I propose for right now," Dave spoke in a normal conversational volume. "I say that one of us makes breakfast while the other showers. Then we eat breakfast together, and then the one who already showered cleans up and the one who made breakfast showers, and then we get on the road."

"I have an idea," Kurt spoke, playful grin still in place. "We could shower together."

Dave exhaled through a smirk. "If we shower together, that will delay our getting on the road for at least an hour, because, well, you _know_ how _that_ will go."

Kurt's face feigned disappointment as he answered. "Yes, of course. You're always the logical, practical one."

"Aw, c'mon," Dave protested, "you know I have a deep appreciation and admiration for your spontaneous and more, um, _physically tempting_ suggestions; but we really don't have time for that today."

"Yeah, yeah," Kurt spoke, smirking though trying to sound disappointed. "I'll hit the shower. You can make breakfast. Your breakfast will be less complicated and easier to clean up than mine would be so that'll get us on the road that much sooner."

Dave smiled, a small triumph and a painless defeat for Kurt. As both young men stood from the bed, they kissed again and parted: Kurt slipping into his bath robe and Dave pulling on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt before walking to his desk to boot his laptop.

"I'm gonna check my email and stuff before we get on the road," Dave informed. "You might wanna do the same, though you could probably check yours while we're on the road. I'll probably be driving at first."

"Oh, I'll get to it," Kurt said, partially muffled as he closed the bathroom door in mid-sentence.

The screen on Dave's laptop illuminated while Dave walked to the kitchen area and opened the freezer, eyes scanning the compartment, mumbling to himself, _I don't think I could get away with frozen waffles today._

_Poptarts, maybe_, he mumbled after closing the refrigerator and eyeing three boxes of the packaged pastries in various flavors. _They turn every breakfast into a party,_ he mused.

Dave strode back to his desk to access his email account, and the most recent message piqued his curiosity. The name of the sender was Sebastian Smythe and the subject line read, _Greetings from an almost-friend_.

As Dave clicked and accessed the message, he could hear the shower begin behind the bathroom door. Curious and with keen interest, Dave read the message.

_Dave,_

_I hope things are going well for you. It's been almost five years since I've last seen you. I apologize for not returning your messages. I have been well._

_Please check your bank account. You will find that I have made a substantial deposit. Please do not attempt to return it to me as you will not be able to do so. Please accept it._

_If you should wish to speak to me personally, you can send me a reply message or call the number at the end of this message. I promise that I won't ignore you this time._

_Sincerely,  
__Sebastian Smythe_

Nearly frantic, Dave bounced to his bank's website and logged on. He was dumbstruck by what he saw when he accessed his checking account. He immediately found his phone and pecked in the phone number included in Sebastian's email message.

"Hello?" the tiny voice answered through Dave's phone.

"Hello, _Sebastian_?" Dave responded.

"Is this Dave Karofsky?" the voice became familiar-sounding and the speaker sounded as if they were audibly smiling.

"Uh, yeah," Dave answered, slight apprehension in his voice. "Sorry to call so early in the morning, but I got your email and checked my bank account. Sebastian, what's this all about?"

"Surprise!" Sebastian spoke melodically followed by a laugh and a pause. "Don't sweat the time of day. I'm in Paris, and it's early afternoon here. Dave, it's me thanking you."

"For _what_?" Dave's voice sounded somewhat urgent and disbelieving.

"Aw, c'mon, Dave, don't be so modest. You saved my life a few years back. I owe you _something_ for that."

Dave inhaled, still taken aback. "Sebastian, I was acting out of, well, just because that's how I conduct myself. I couldn't just stand by and let someone bleed out without trying to help them. I'd have probably done that for anyone."

"But you did it for _me_," Sebastian countered quickly. "I'm not so sure I deserved it at the time. I was telling everyone that I was trying to straighten my life out and be a better person, but I was still the same damned asshole bastard I'd been all along. It nearly got me killed. You tried to talk me out of doing that stupid shit that night, and if I'd have listened to you, I probably wouldn't have been shot. And I can't pretend that the whole thing didn't affect me, Dave. That whole time I was hanging out with you in Lima, you were making some kinda impression on me, getting me to see what a fuck-up I was. It took years for me to get my head right. I mean, it's not easy because I think I have some natural tendency to be an asshole, I guess. But, then, all I gotta do is think about the time when my life was given back to me by this person to whom I was pretty terrible at one time, inexcusably so. That straightened my ass out more than you know. So just take the money. It's yours. And I really _don't_ think its enough."

"Sebastian, you deposited _five hundred thousand dollars_ into my bank account," Dave spoke, incredulous.

"Dave, I'm doing very well for myself," Sebastian explained. "A year and a half ago, my dad put me in control of one of his companies. It was flagging badly, going down the tubes. I think he thought he could pass the blame of its failure onto his fuck-up son, but I brought it back. I brought it back and turned it around; and I did it without resorting to anything shady or deceptive or criminal. I'm all above-board and ethical, and the company is thriving at this point. The employees consider me to be some kinda hero for saving their jobs, so I know how that feels, Dave. It feels pretty good. You should feel that good for saving my life."

"Well, then, thanks," Dave's voice was quiet. "Thank you, Sebastian."

"Don't thank me because I don't deserve thanks, not for this at least," Sebastian dismissed, though politely. "By the way, you were a bitch to track down. I had no idea you were living in New York. I notice that your address is the same as Kurt Hummel's. Are you guys, like, _together_ or just rooming?"

"Uh, Kurt's my partner," Dave answered, his bewilderment still apparent. "We've been together for over four years now. I moved to New York about six months after that concert."

"So, I take it that things are good with the two of you then," Sebastian spoke, an approving, optimistic tone. "Four years. That's great. Congratulations, Dave."

"Thanks."

Sebastian laughed quietly. "That you can thank me for."

"What?"

"Congratulating the two of you, Dave," Sebastian nearly exclaimed. "Seriously, though, I'm really happy for you, for both of you. And, if you ever need help with anything financial, as long as it's legal and on the up-and-up, don't hesitate to contact me, Dave. I mean that."

Dave swallowed audibly before answering quietly, "Okay."

"So, how's the glamorous life going for the two of you in New York?" Sebastian asked brightly, shifting the tone of the conversation. "Any big plans for the weekend?"

"_Glamorous_ life?" Dave chuckled, disarmed. "Actually. I just finished college. Got my bachelor degree in physics. Kurt and I were kinda celebrating last night."

"Hey," Sebastian sounded brighter yet, "Big congrats on that too."

"Thanks," Dave said, smiling proudly. "We're actually going to Lima today. Kurt's taken a week off of his job, and we're going to visit our parents and old friends and stuff. That is, if any of our old friends actually stayed there."

Sebastian chuckled audibly. "Sounds like you wasted no time getting out of Lima, Dave."

"I couldn't stay there," Dave's tone sobered. "It just kinda freaked me out, the aftermath of that concert thing."

Sebastian was suddenly silent.

"You know, the driver of the ambulance that picked you up told me later that night that there had been a fire at Ryerson's house," Dave began. "Someone was found dead of a gunshot wound in the house and a young guy was rescued from the fire. I could assume that the body was Ryerson and the young guy, who was found handcuffed to a sling, was Blaine. That night I left to stay in New York for a week with Kurt. When I got back to Lima, it was like everything was erased: no stories in the newspapers, Ryerson's obituary was completely generic and said that he was found dead in his home, Blaine was, like, completely eliminated. I ran into that ambulance driver, and he told me that no fire had happened, that I was confused. I drove past Ryerson's house after that, and it had been torn down."

Sebastian remained silent. The silence extended, long and unnerving.

"Sebastian," Dave spoke, some element of discovery in his voice, "you _know_ something about all of this, don't you?"

"Dave, maybe you shouldn't be too quick to question things if they don't concern you directly," Sebastian answered. "Early that Sunday morning after I was shot, before the anesthetic had worn off, still groggy as fuck and half asleep, a well-dressed man came to my hospital room. He offered me twenty thousand dollars to leave Lima. He said I could take the money and leave or I'd leave by whatever means his people wanted to use to remove me. He gave me a week to make up my mind. I took the money and was out of town by Wednesday. I had to hire people to help me pack as my left arm was not entirely usable at the time."

"What would be the purpose of that?" Dave asked. "When I returned to Lima, I kinda didn't expect you to be around, but, like, it was like the events of that weekend never happened."

"Dave," Sebastian spoke loudly, hanging onto the name, cutting Dave short and pausing before continuing. "Local politicians, the money behind the local politicians, a perfect little Bible-belt town like Lima: there are certain things that those people are going to want to keep from their public, no matter how true they might be. They're willing to pay and bribe and who-knows-what-else to keep up their little facade of hygienic bliss alive. And the teenage girls and their housewife moms don't want to believe what they saw, so they just play along. Blaine comes from a wealthy family, maybe they had a part in that too. Hell, for all we know, the Andersons could own the mayor of Lima, the Allen County Water Authority, and every church in the tri-state area. Just know that there are certain things that these people will go to any length to protect. If that means burying a news story about a probable pedophile living in their midst who had a playroom set up in his house and a video library of his activities on his hard drive, they'll do it. They think their public wouldn't be able to handle it, and they have a constituency to which to answer. They can't let a story like that one go public on their watch. And that public doesn't want to believe it happened either, so they'll deny it out of existence. And it's pretty easy to shut up a few EMT workers and police officers and hospital workers if you give them the choice between keeping quiet and minding their own business or losing their jobs."

Now Dave was silent.

"Dave, you're _naïve_," Sebastian spoke, quietly. "Sometimes I envied that about you. I think it's what woke me the fuck up and shook me out of that disreputable life I was living."

"But what happened to Blaine?" Dave asked quietly. "He has to be _somewhere._"

"It doesn't affect you, so you really shouldn't worry about it, Dave," Sebastian countered.

A heavy, palpable silence hung on the phone between them.

"Do you remember the Head of Janus?" Sebastian asked.

_"What?"_ Dave responded, obviously clueless to the inquiry.

"A few years ago, a little over a year after I left Lima, I got an internship at an agency that manages entertainment industry acts," Sebastian began. "Singers, groups, songwriters, all kinds of music-industry people. We had three recording labels under our umbrella. I thought that interning at a place like that would familiarize me with the business. At the time, I was still planning to pursue a singing career even though I was studying business, entertainment business, specifically. I'd worked there for about six months when a video by this act who went by the name the Head of Janus began making a big stir on the internet. Nobody knew what to make of this act, but it was catching fire. It appeared to be a male singer. The video was professional: somebody had spent a lot of money on this thing, and it was getting attention. It was just one song, a cover version of the old sixties song "This Magic Moment", in a big arrangement with strings and orchestration, really romantic-sounding, except for the singer's voice. I mean, the guy could sing, technically he could hit the notes, but his voice sounded completely destroyed, like a crazy, on-key croaking or something. There were people speculating that it wasn't even a real voice, that it was being electronically manipulated. It's hard to figure who all these people were who were making up this act's following, but their numbers were going up: message boards and fan websites and blogs devoted to this Head of Janus guy. The size of the following was hard to argue with, and the labels were taking notice. He was in the video, but you could never get a really good idea of what he looked like. See, he wore this mask that covered one side of his face, like the one in the Phantom of the Opera musical; and he had this kinda mop of dark, curly hair that he wore to one side, keeping his face partially-hidden with that. He was dressed in this frilly Victorian get-up, but all of the shots of his face were either quick edits or half in the dark."

"So, what's this got to do with anything?" Dave asked. "I never heard of this _Head of Janus_ guy, but, then, I haven't done much for the past four years but work and go to school."

Sebastian continued. "It doesn't have anything to do with anything. It's just a crazy story, that's all. See, I also came to realize that the entertainment business is extremely corrupt. Working that internship was probably a lot like your experience with all of your disillusionment with Lima. You had to get out of Lima, and I had to get out of the entertainment industry. I mean, I can really sing, right, but here's this guy whose voice is either destroyed or manipulated to sound fucked-up who has record labels ready to eat out of his hand."

Dave shook his head, understanding Sebastian's reasons for abandoning his singing career but confused by the story. "So, um, what happened to his Head of Janus guy anyway?"

"He got signed," Sebastian answered. "His label gave him a big push, sunk tons of money into advertising and promoting. His CD came out and crashed and burned. The fad had run its course. Frankly, the one original video could be seen as art or parody or something; but the album was creepy, like some creepy croaking guy in a mask trying to be the next Josh Groban. The label lost millions and lots of people probably lost their jobs in the debacle."

"Was the agency you were working for involved with this guy?" Dave asked, almost disinterested at this point.

"No," Sebastian replied. "I mean, they definitely made him a few offers. As far as I know, no one in the business-end of things ever met this Head of Janus guy. Everything was conducted via his handlers over the phone from a blocked number. I can say that I listened in on one of the phone conversations once, but there was nothing remarkable about the conversation. Just typical industry contract negotiation."

"Were you _allowed_ to do that?" Dave spoke, baffled, "to listen in on the conversation?"

Sebastian laughed. "It was part of my job. They _encouraged_ it. Besides, the call was scheduled for a specific time so they could have a technician tap my line to trace the number's origin. I had to monitor the actual call while he was doing his tracing."

"Dude, that sound kinda creepy," Dave sounded dismissive, "wrong, even."

"I agree," Sebastian countered. "That's why I had to get out of that line of work."

"Was the guy able to trace the number?" Dave asked, a sarcastic smirk returning to his face.

"Oh yeah," Sebastian assured confidently. "It was coming from Allen County, Ohio."

Dave was stunned silent.

"Hey, Dave, nice talking , but I gotta get going. Have a good time in Lima. Don't let the place freak you out. You have nothing to worry about as long as you don't ask too many questions. Take care, big guy; and do let me know if I can ever help you and Kurt, okay?"

"Alright," Dave answered slowly, jostled from his silence. "Hey, uh, if you're ever around or anything, I would really like to see you, just kinda hang out and say hello. I'm sure Kurt would wanna do that too."

"Sounds good. Take it easy, Dave."

"Bye and thanks, Sebastian."

The call ended from Sebastian's side almost too quickly after Dave spoke. Dave sat silent for a moment, roused from his uncertain state by the sound of Kurt opening the bathroom door. Dave turned to face Kurt who was fully-dressed thought his hair was still wet and unstyled.

"No breakfast yet?" Kurt asked, an almost playfully demanding tone.

Dave shook his head as if trying to wake himself. "No, sorry. I was actually on the phone with Sebastian. He'd emailed me and kind-of suggested I call him."

Kurt's face became surprised, then serious. "Now that's a coincidence. We were just talking about him. Is everything okay?"

Dave's face relaxed to a gentle smile as he looked downward then up again to address Kurt's eyes. "He thanked me, kinda in his own way, for saving his life a few years ago. And he says I helped straighten his life out a little."

_"Thanked you in his own way?"_ Kurt questioned. "What does _that_ mean?"

"He deposited a pretty enormous amount of money in my bank account."

_"Oh my god,"_ Kurt exclaimed. "Are you going to _keep_ it?"

Dave shook his head, facing downward again. "He said he won't take it back. He said he's doing really well, running one of his dad's businesses. He also said that if, in the future, you or me should need any kind of financial assistance, we should let him know and he'd help."

Kurt smiled, though with an air of disbelief, shaking his head. "How much did he give you?"

"A _lot_," Dave said. "Five hundred thousand."

Kurt gasped.

"Maybe we can take some time an look at some potential houses in Cleveland or Akron or Dayton this week when we're in Ohio," Dave suggested.

Kurt continued smiling and shaking his head, obviously speechless.

"Poptarts and coffee okay for breakfast today?" Dave asked, sounding more relaxed.

"Yeah," Kurt finally spoke, a hinted laugh. "That's fine by me."

Kurt sat himself on a stool at the breakfast bar, a half-wall which separated the dining area from the kitchen area. Dave placed coffee mugs on the bar's countertop and sat quietly next to Kurt. Kurt almost instinctively leaned toward Dave, and Dave raised his arm behind Kurt, resting his hand on Kurt's far shoulder, rubbing warmly as it landed there.

"You going to be okay with all of this?" Dave asked.

Kurt shrugged and exhaled a breathy laugh. "What's not to be okay with? I mean, it's like winning a lottery or something." Kurt snapped a cinnamon poptart in half and broke it further, separating two smaller pieces, lifting one into his mouth and the second to Dave. Dave smiled and gently took it into his mouth while pulling Kurt closer to him, both breaking into smiles.

The two remained silent for a while, drinking coffee and eating, staying physically close, the back of Kurt's shoulder touching to Dave's chest frequently.

"Do you remember something called," Dave spoke finally, pausing for a moment, _"Head of Janus?"_

Kurt grimaced and rolled his eyes. "That crazy video from a couple of years ago? The creepy-looking guy in the mask?"

"Yeah, I _guess_," Dave responded. "I'd never heard of it, but Sebastian said that he interned at an entertainment management agency for a while. That was one of the acts they were trying to sign. He said that it was weird, but the guy could actually, like sing, in, like, a technical sense or something."

"That's true," Kurt agreed. "I mean, I spent a lot of time training my voice in the past, you know that: all my work with the glee club in high school and such. Yeah, the Head of Janus had an obviously trained voice, but it just sounded horrid, like he had to be in pain or something to get those sounds. I didn't get the attraction at all."

"Sebastian said that it was all the rage for a while," Dave mentioned.

"That's true too, for all of, maybe, six or eight months," Kurt confirmed. "I still have no idea what the target audience was. I mean, it looked a little like goth and a little romantic, but that voice was just creepy. I think it was more novelty than anything. Haven't thought about that thing in years. Didn't think about it much when it was happening."

"Just curious, that's all," Dave spoke softly as the two finished breakfast.

* * *

**One year and five months later, six years after the concert**

"Well, hello, Sebastian," Dave spoke into his phone upon reading the incoming call information.

"Hello, Dave," Sebastian answered in return. "Long time."

Dave snickered. "Yeah, well, the last time we talked was over a year ago when you decided to surprise me with that completely amazing and mysterious deposit into my bank account; and the last time before _that_, well, we were singing together waiting for an ambulance to arrive."

Sebastian laughed. "Okay, we don't chat frequently, but you can't say it's not memorable when we do."

Dave laughed heartily at the observation. "And it's great to hear your voice. So, to what do I owe this call, Sebastian?"

"Well," Sebastian's voice betrayed an air of disappointment. "I'm in New York right now. It's a Saturday morning, and I was hoping to meet with you and Kurt like you suggested when last we spoke; but, well, I looked you up, and, apparently, you and Kurt no longer live in New York."

Dave exhaled loudly. "Yeah, that's true."

"And I thought I was keeping such effective tabs you," Sebastian spoke in an affected near-whine before brightening his voice slightly. "So, where are you living now?"

"We bought a house just outside of Cleveland, kinda between Cleveland and Oberlin," Dave answered. "Uh, we came into some _extra cash_ last year, and Kurt and I decided that we wanted to be a little closer to our parents."

"That's awesome," Sebastian commented, sounding genuinely happy for the couple. "Tell me, though, did you and Kurt get married before you moved from New York? Please tell me that you _did_."

Dave laughed, shaking his head. "You know it. It happened really quick otherwise I would have invited you."

"Don't sweat it," Sebastian retorted. "I know how these things just kinda happen sometimes."

"Well, your, um, _contribution_ to my _bank account_ definitely made the house and the move a possibility, so you _should_ have been at the wedding at the very least," Dave spoke, sounding apologetic.

"Like I said, Dave, don't let it bother you," Sebastian defused Dave's playful guilt. "We'll get together sometime. Until then, just let me congratulate you."

"Aw, thanks, Sebastian."

"You're welcome, and pass my congratulatory greetings onto Kurt, will you?" Sebastian requested.

"Sure will."

"So, everything's good with you two, I guess?" Sebastian asked.

"I cannot complain," Dave spoke with a smile. "I'm freelancing for several architectural firms in the area. There's a lot of development going on, and my schedule is pretty full at the moment. Kurt is still working for that fashion website via the internet, and he has his own blog. He goes to New York every couple of months, and if I'm free, I make the trip with him. And he's started this fashion-consulting business. Craziest thing, all these rich women pay Kurt to suggest things he thinks they should be wearing for swanky events."

Sebastian laughed aloud. "You gotta be shittin' me."

"No, not at all," Dave confirmed with a chuckle of his own. "He's outfitted whole weddings and stuff. It's pretty amazing that he _used_ to be this complete _slave_ to fashion, and _now_ he just regards it as 'his work'. Otherwise, we've got Cleveland just east of us if we want to go into the city for a concert or a big show; and we have Oberlin just to the west when we want to see some of their cultural events. Kurt's even been thinking about maybe taking some classes over there to maybe get back in the swing of performing, but, like, just as a hobby. How are things with you?"

"Things are good," Sebastian answered, sounding calm. "I'm expanding my business, and my dad put me in charge of a few other things because I've shown that I could do well with this kinda stuff. He didn't have a great opinion of me for a long time, but I think I kinda won him over."

"That's _great_, Sebastian," Dave spoke sincerely. "Any special man in your life?"

Sebastian laughed. "No, not at the moment. Honestly, it's taken me a while to get my head straight enough to feel like I _deserved_ a special man in my life. I'm getting there, though."

"Well, I'd love to talk more, and I'd love to get together with you sometime, but I kinda gotta get going," Dave informed.

"Oh, well, I don't wanna hold you back," Sebastian spoke, sounding slightly clumsy, "What do you have going on today?"

"Kurt and I are driving out to Lima," Dave informed. "We're going to meet up with our dads and Kurt's stepmom and my dad's girlfriend, and we're all gonna go out to the Buckeyes game at OSU. We'll stay the night in Lima and go back home tomorrow."

"That sounds like a great time, Dave," Sebastian remarked.

"Yeah, it is," Dave replied. "We do this most weekends when there's a home game. I didn't get to do this kinda stuff very often when I was in college, and not at all with my dad. I really like his girlfriend too. They seem to get along great, and I'm glad he has someone to spend time with."

"Does Kurt enjoy going to the games?" Sebastian asked.

"Yeah, he does," Dave's reply was honest but not enthusiastic. "I kinda got Kurt to appreciate the games, and his dad likes that he gets something out of it. Yeah, it's good all around."

"Does Lima creep you out like it did before you moved to New York," Sebastian asked, hesitantly. "I know that was part of the reason why you moved."

"_No_, it was the _whole_ reason why I moved," Dave answered confidently. "And, no, it doesn't creep me out as long as I realize that there's a bad side to every place. There's enough good people around to keep me in blissful denial of that kinda bad stuff. And if something gets to me in a bad way, Kurt makes everything make sense again."

Sebastian was silent for a moment, audibly breathing, before saying, "Man, I'm so happy for you, Dave, for both you _and_ Kurt."

"Thanks."

"Good talking to you, Dave. Have a great weekend."

"You too, Sebastian. We'll get together soon, I hope. Goodbye."

"Bye, Dave."

No sooner did Dave end the call than he heard Kurt's voice behind him.

"Phone call?"

"Yeah," Dave said through a chuckle as he returned his phone to his shirt pocket. "It was Sebastian of all people. He's in New York and thought we still lived there. Wanted to try and get together."

Kurt smiled and snaked his arms around Dave as he approached closer. "That was nice of him."

"Yeah."

"Do you miss New York at all?" Kurt asked, eyes pointing upward into Dave's.

"Yeah, I kinda do," Dave answered, "but I love what we have here too much to want to go back."

Kurt grinned wide and spontaneous. "Me too. That's exactly the way I feel."

With that, Kurt pulled himself closer to Dave, and Dave's arms instinctively wrapped around Kurt. Their lips met in a quick, playful kiss before they parted and Kurt asked, "Are you all ready to go?"

"Yep," Dave answered definitively and cheerful, "Let's get on the road.

Kurt and Dave were making good time: the traffic and road conditions were prefect for travel. They'd been on the road for just over two hours, less than forty minutes away from their destination when Dave ran over a particularly rough cluster of potholes. It was another ten minutes on the road when Kurt mentioned the way in which he noticed the car was riding.

"It's pulling to the right, isn't it?"

"Yeah, it is," Dave answered. "Probably nothing major."

"Yes, but it's probably something as simple as the tire pressure," Kurt commented. "Those potholes weren't so bad as to cause any damage, but you should probably check the pressure. There's an exit we can take coming up on the interstate."

"You don't think it can wait until we get to Lima?" Dave questioned, almost innocently. "We'll be there in another twenty minutes."

Kurt affected a glare. "David, I'm the son of a mechanic. I'm a mechanic myself. Improperly inflated tires wear unevenly and can mess up alignment as well as adversely affect mileage and..."

Dave smiled in defeat. "Okay, okay, I should have known better than to make a dumb statement like that to you. I'll get off at the exit and check the tire pressure."

"And if it _is_ something more severe like alignment, we can probably get it fixed up in dad's garage before we go home tomorrow," Kurt added. "And _thank_ you."

Dave steered the car onto the exit ramp, taking it into a wide arc as it merged onto a main road lined with hotels and eateries.

"I see a gas station just after that intersection," Dave noted. "I can check the tires there if they have air."

_"Ooh,"_ Kurt sighed with a hint of enthusiasm. "There's a coffeehouse next door. Could you go for a coffee or biscotti or both?"

Dave turned his head to face Kurt, smirking. "Of course. I'll drop you off at the coffee shop, drive over and check the tires, and pick you up when I'm finished."

Kurt smiled a genuinely happy, almost childlike smile. "What do you want?"

Having navigated the intersection, Dave slowed the car and stopped at the walkway, just in front of the entrance to the coffeehouse. "Just coffee. You know how I like it. A shot of cream. Nothing special, I don't want anything fussy right now. You can surprise me with a flavored coffee or something, but nothing with whipped cream or anything, okay?"

"Okay, got it," Kurt answered, reaching for his messenger bag and stepping from the car. "Anything to eat?"

"Uh, if you're getting something, you can grab me something also," Dave answered before Kurt nodded and slammed the car door closed.

Dave watched Kurt enter the coffee shop. He set the car into drive, slowly navigating the paved areas connecting the lot of the coffee shop to that of the gas station. He sighted the air dispenser and drove his car next to it. Once parked, Dave popped open the lid to the compartment between the front seats and searched for his tire-pressure gauge. There were three in the compartment:_ it comes with being married to a mechanic's son_, Dave thought to himself. He lifted one of the three gauges from the compartment and exited the car after turning the ignition off.

He first checked the tires on the passenger side of the car, the ones which would have been most directly affected by the road, crouching and checking twice to get an accurate reading. The pressure was indeed down significantly in both the front and rear tires; the driver-side tires read their proper level of air pressure.

Dave walked to the air dispenser and uncoiled the hose, resting it on the pavement next to the passenger side of the car. He then reached into his pocket for change. Four quarters were needed to purchase air; more quarters would buy more air, however. He had six quarters in his pocket. He instinctively fed four into the machine, hoping that either he could adequately inflate the tires on four quarters or that he'd have enough time to feed the two additional quarters into the machine before the air stopped.

He heard the machine begin to hum and the air hose jumped and emitted a hissing sound. He crouched to the front tire and pressed the air hose to the tire's intake, checking the pressure at regular intervals. Once the front tire was brought to its proper inflation, Dave moved himself to the rear tire and repeated the process. He was able to get both tires inflated before the air dispenser timed-out on him.

Dave gathered and coiled the still-hissing air hose in his hands, preparing it to hang on the hook under the dispenser. A gas station worker approached the dispenser, a short man in a typical gas-station-attendant's clothes. The man looked old; he walked with a slight hunch, and he checked the trash receptacle located to the side of the air dispenser, loosening the liner, and pulling it free from the trashcan.

As Dave approached the air dispenser with the coiled hose in his hand, he noticed that the attendant's right hand seemed somewhat palsied or injured as he struggled tying off the plastic liner. Dave shifted forward to assist the man, but the man had the liner tied off by the time Dave was beside him.

Being next to the man, Dave noticed that the man was probably not as old as he had appeared from a short distance away. The man's facial complexion was rough, appearing like a severe case of acne scarring. As Dave reached the coiled air hose to the hook under the dispenser, he noticed the burn-scars on the attendant's wrists, thin bands of flesh that appeared stressed to their limit, a lighter, redder color than the rest of his arms.

Dave reached forward and hung the hose onto its hook as the man struggled to insert a fresh liner into the trash receptacle. Dave instinctively turned toward the smaller man.

"Let me help you with that," Dave said as he took the side of the fresh liner from the man's disabled right hand and pulled it tightly around the edge of the trashcan. Slowly the man craned his head upward. Dave thought the man's slow, lethargic movement bore the mark of someone heavily medicated. The man's eyes met Dave's; this all but confirmed Dave's assumption about the man's medicated state, but the man's face blessed Dave with a possible realization, a horror.

The man's face, though rough and scarred on the surface was pulled into a disturbing asymmetry: it's left side bore more definite lines of scar tissue. The left eyelid seemed stiff and leathery as it hung, almost closed, over the person's left eye; and the eyes themselves bore only the faintest trace of consciousness.

The man wore a hat typical of gas station attendants, but Dave could see very little of the man's dark, almost black hair peeking out from the edges; and the man's eyebrows were the faintest trace of black lines above his eyes, the left one broken by one of those lines of scar tissue.

"Thank you," the man spoke understandably but with a harsh rasp and nodded with unfocused eyes to Dave, startling him. Dave felt his blood literally run cold. The man continued to move slowly, gathering the filled trashcan liner, and moving away from Dave toward the direction of a dumpster, unaffected by the strange exchange.

Dave stood for a moment in the crisp autumn air, breathing deeply, the cool restoring his place in the moment. He was standing beside his car, having just checked the tire pressure and filling the tires. He slowly moved to the driver's side of the car, opened the door, and clinbed inside behind the steering wheel.

He drove back to the coffee shop in the adjacent lot. Kurt was waiting for him, smiling, standing at the edge of the raised walkway, holding two tall paper coffee cups and a small brown paper bag. Instead of merely slowing and stopping to allow Kurt to enter the car, Dave drove to a parking space located under an overhang and parked the car, shutting the engine down.

Kurt walked to the car, opened the door, and slid into the passenger seat. "Was the tire pressure down?" Kurt asked.

"Yeah," Dave mumbled quietly, almost exhaling the word.

"Did you remember to add fifteen pound to the cold pressure rating because the tires are hot from driving for the last two-and-a-half hours?"

"Yeah."

"I got you a pumpkin-spice coffee," Kurt smiled brightly, placing the paper cups into the dashboard cup holder. "I got some shortbread cookies too. That okay?"

"Yeah."

No sooner after had Dave breathed the word and Kurt placed the cups into the holder did Dave gently reach to Kurt, wrapping his arms around him and leaning his head into Kurt's chest. The embrace became firmer, almost frightening in its intensity for a moment. Kurt couldn't see the tortured grimace which Dave wore for a moment as his head was tucked tightly against Kurt's chest.

"David," Kurt spoke softly, holding Dave's head gently in one hand while running his other over Dave's back. "What's wrong? Are you okay?"

Dave was quiet for a moment, gathering himself, eyes watering but not spilling. He breathed in the calm he felt coming from Kurt and the shelter he felt within Kurt's arms, Kurt's strength and empathy.

Dave finally loosened his grip and spoke softly, backing from Kurt and addressing him with his eyes. "Yeah, I'm okay." His face formed an unsure smile. "Just weird being back in Lima sometimes. And you make it right."

Kurt smiled a full, genuine smile, and all the uncertainty in Dave's face was erased.


End file.
